The poet dies
with every line
and is reborn in the next --
Inhaling silence
and holding it there
until an intuition
forms [itself],
A small round gift
that jumps from zero
smooth and precise
but without limit
meant to arouse
something unseen
that results in the
tumbled joy of
breath and poetry
in freefall
happily plummeting
without thought or reason
through new skies
borne of a poet's dream --