caught between the thresholds of worlds upon worlds.
"Come to me... . . .with a thought!" the ******* book calls
"Your thoughts... . . .I cleave to!" I whisper to its words.
I all at once my own
Ariel & Prospero
set free from the knotted pine of dyslexia
thanks to Mr. Shakespeare's spell.
This was written in Marva's writing room as the dawn came upon me and found my words all scribble and scrawl...here is the translation of that hopeless handwriting into something that can be said and hopefully worth saying.When one is told that this is the writing room then one has to...write! I was reading TO **** A MOCKING BIRD at the time and was thinking of using Atticus's line of "...a shadow of a beginning..." for a title but that got nicked by another poem. We were staying at High Darren so of course Mr. Keats' line suggested itself to me "...Silent, upon a peak in Darien..." Such is the fractal nature of writing poetry. And the book I was reading as a child in that window just happened to be TO **** A MOCKING BIRD...what goes around comes around.