Originally posted 2001. Revised.
words do not come independently
to me
looking for equations to solve
or causes to exalt
instead words
work for me
like ants
in service
to something underground and distant
whose existence
is inferred
from the way the words
draw attention away from themselves
and in tandem
draw attention
toward a common end
so that
only upon reflection upon the many
do first the pattern and then the path
become clear
my trade:
make
language
over
so that to speak is
to stitch words together
and shoe meaning
with them
so that meaning and I
may walk in steady pace
across
rough ground
so when I get to where
I am bound
I can set language
aside
and set meaning free
to dip itself in cool spring water
wriggle in the grass
and be itself
this is the nature
of the way I work with words
it is not the job of a poet
it is cobbler’s work
I’ve been apprenticed to a hard master
seated at the bench each day
I must be simple before the need
and sing as I work
at each day’s end I can feel the welts raised
on my callused hands
from building these verses
I make my bed at night
knowing I have come far
knowing that
tomorrow
I will rise and set to work again
to make
language
over is
to work
as if meaning
is enough
as if work
is enough