but you're a writer
she said to me
as if my being able
by dumb luck, or innate ability
to string, like ducks in a row
words that seemed to work
in a line
made me better
better able to describe
the indescribable
It's harder to explain
to describe the things that
are close to you, mean the most
to you
the things that most move you
that make your heart beat
faster, stronger make you want to live
so much longer
make moments into eternities
Oh surely I know that
when so moved, I can
spout and pour from my lips
or finger tips, streams of words
pretty some, perhaps
and even close to the mark, by chance
firing into the dark
it often feels as though
I have failed in my goal
the words that come
the feelings they evoke
like the after image
of a flash bulb
a reflection, of a ghost
of what the words mean
or what you mean to me