No less than the body of flesh you feed
do you need to feed the imagination
which subsists on moments in pictures
impressed on the mind, and seen when
moving through the woods or sitting
by the still waters, listening, feeling,
wondering at––What was that?
The answer, the poem, however it comes;
whatever it looks like, you’ve touched
The Core. Write it. Speak it.
Who will go for Me?
Here I am. Send me.
