It is a wonder to hold the heart
of someone you have never held.

Where their hands have kneaded
your words.
Dough to soften
wait
And rise.

A poet holds a thousand hearts
or maybe only one

Pen poised, and writing
Whatever words will wield.
Their grip can be so vicious
or perhaps so sweet and soft.

And whatever that grip may be,
they hold hearts,
To tear or twist,
Or tenderly touch.

A poet holds a thousand hearts.
Of those they've never held.