Where does the poetry go
When it leaves us, departs
To parts unknown, perhaps
Unknowable? May we also
Follow? Should we? Is an
Invitation required? Is it?
Don't I have an open invite
To drop by any time? Can't
I find the lyric, the tempo,
The reason to rejoice at will?
Isn't inspiration my whim,
My whimsy and the rhythm
In my days, life as it comes
And goes. I can follow along
I can see the poetry. There,
Where I left it to sit, to stand
To rumble in the corners, to
Await a new day or an old night
Never quite gone. It's there.
Tamara, really 