These many secret stirrings
Band together
To form a tapestry of verse,
Of sound,
Of color.
Scattered fragments
Puzzle into place,
United after a lifetime
Of drifting in air
Like so many specks of dust.
And these little suspended things,
These pieces so useless alone,
Meet and find meaning.

And I,
The product of puzzles,
Of tapestries,
Of so many meanings;
I,
The artist,
The poet,
The singer;
I
Give shape to these accumulations
Of nothings which together form somethings,
Turn these somethings from thought to form
And set them sailing into the world
So that one day,
Perhaps,
You will find them
And know me.