what does a poet write about when the skies are blue?
when the war is over, the storm has passed,
the water sits as still as a painting on a gallery wall?
what does a poet write about when sticky summers
turn into crisp, cool autumns?
when garish winters make way for the flowers of spring?
what does a poet write about when the holes in her soul
have been delicately stitched by a steady hand?
when a gentle heartbeat beneath her ear
closes her eyes at night and opens them in the morning?
of course the poet writes on.
day after day the words still find their way onto blank pages,
the urge still fills her chest to bursting,
desire still guides her pen across the lined paper.
only when the poem comes to its close does she notice that
'love' changed from past tense into present
somewhere in the cursive loops and dotted i's.