maybe a good idea will fall out of the sky
and land on my head.

sky knows many words and listens to all
that’s ever said.

wind spreads far, repeating, repeating
what was said.

I take these as gift to pass along.
 
 
 
maybe a single phrase will materialize,
then I go looking for more kin.   by name,
by deed, by glad happenstance.
 
 
 
maybe from your lips or your fingertips.

maybe you’ll say or write something that
teases my ear.   I’ll welcome it into my home,
give it food, see if it wants to curl into my lap.

your words are as good or better than mine
and besides, we share everything, earth and
air and water.   and words.
 
 
 
neil reid
 
 

footnotes:
another part of what seems a series of conversations “about poems”,
what they are, where they come from, what kind of relationship with us
are they capable of, what they do, what’s their shape, how do they move?
a small obsession of mine it seems.