Another kindred spirit
has returned to the fold
running on the wind of flight
wrapped in gusts of light
on wings of second sight
the pen
bold in battle
stands
and slays
the ego of man
what is left
is rounded and rooted
sweet like almond trees
and humming
the small sweet nothings
of somethings
in the ear
we drop the pen
for you
and color
the page
celestial
sink our feet
deep beneath your
lost thoughts
that crumble
between out toes
I will yearn for your
earthly, heavenly,
humanly
beautiful
explosion
of eloquence
your imagination
still
sows
fresh thoughts
in used minds
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