The weaver flits into my mind
for the first time
gathering fronds to bind
Words into images, into rhyme.
In sentences I feel as vast as the sea
Perhaps why waves attract me
The brightyellow bird builds
His nest above a flood of phrases.
She tears it down; he rebuilds
With youthful energy, yet singing praises.
I grab that beautiful vision and run
Into the wild and the crackedyolk sun.