On the wide streets, teeming
with wildflowers and cicadas.
The sky crackling in an eternal inferno.
I can only speak through you.
How constricted the world is.
Hardly a trace of a living flame.
Yet, all is not lost.
The birds and poets are still here.
No filtering of the body and mind,
in their sounds and words.
And your love, has brought
me back to the flaming fields of life.
A Wandering Poet 