Oh Imara, were you a jug or an urn
i'd scribble words that for you wouldn't
have to rhyme.

Some sense, yes, even elaborate rhythmic
notions the poem could possess
and the words could even be sung.

'Le seul mot juste', Flaubert might suggest
letting me know that more is not
necessarily better or best.

Liltish, some would say, would capture the ode
in the most piquant light,
so as to please.

And to write this on an oblate urn
while, still it sits--not moving,
would not be the trick.

The difficulty would lie in the deeper morass
of finding words that, like music,
would melt the stars, instead
of the clanging noise
that would surely make bears
and other beasts,
at least,
uneasy.

So, I want; but, I won't.

04/21/2005