On Writing

Everyone is going to read this poem
then ask, may I? They will take
these words bore out of nothing,
will added to, rearranged,
crossed out and replaced,
this won’t be mine, anymore.
Take it. Meanings
are nothing, can mean
a thousand things,
but not a single word here
will mean what I just said.

I’m just a mind, waiting.
Let this take life in your universe -
purposeful, and full of filigrees.