With the last ounce of daylight
   A quiet wish takes flight

Like the beating wings of dragon flies
   Faster than a heart can hold
   Clearer than a clouded sky
   With dusklit distant humming hues

Here is the wish intent on finding you
   Wherever you are in this storied eye

I cannot see you
   Though I wish
   (To find)

Several poets have told me
That I wear the wrong hat;
I should be a journalist
And let it go at that.

That I should write who-what-when-where
And put it out as news
And turn my eye to everyday
And pay the newsman’s dues.

I can’t put my quill pen down
And give up making rhyme.
I have vistas in my soul
That snare me every time.

Though I dance among the fairies
My words create brick walls
Devoid of hollyhocks and lace
When answering the calls

That urge me to take pen in hand
And share what moves my heart.
The need to see reality
Will doom me from the start.

I won’t wear a reporter’s hat
The double yous can rot.
I’ll keep searching for the elves
Whether finding them or not.
ljm