it forms, not quite surely perhaps

tension exists but playfully

underneath there are agendas

but wrapped in is a warmth


undeniable magical for this to be

something to be done

the choice, the material with which

our first poetry is placed with us


to walk with us and announce us

a while before, then an opening door frame

circled by light the open window

drew a smooth arc from one to another


our name spoken softly

first


and in our walking through all

of the trees and hills and rivers

we call it out like bells in our hands

and look under leaves and stones

find out a small book with whiter white

pages

open, to the wind and the sun and our

fingers, stepping

and listening to a circle, a line, a space

and a new word, first spoken, first heard

no one before has found it

no one before has found ours


our names, our poetry we are

given at birth


- march 2010

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