An Ecosystem of Words

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Often the soaked words come like 

endless drops of water 

to an ocean at full pool, flowing,

and I think they will never stop. 






Other times the parched words come to a desert, 

an empty canteen, 

halting.



Occasionally the stilted words come 


and stand staunchly like pines


in a forest of managed timber,


sentinels standing tall,


guarded.




But today . . . 


Today the wild words splay in chaotic black ink, 


eating acres of pristine paper, 


escapees running free,


unfettered.



kbp '22

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