I read the well-ordered stanzas of others
The unforced rhymes and rhythms
Sounds giving life and body to existence
And feel the beauty of what I would have likewise liked to express
And think to myself that I would have been a poet if only by intention
But I was unschooled, then, and so I remain
Untutored in that art of saying what I can only dream I might have
What would I have said? In innocence, in an earlier time
I would have written love, uttered the blue of the vaulting sky
The wonder and surprise, once upon springtime, of carpets of white trilliums
Bathed in sunlight cutting at an angle the freshly greened canopies of the hardwoods.
I would have also uttered sorrow, both mine and yours
Of how your hurt is also the hurt of another
Of this deep mystery of this connection between us
How I feel you — and you me — despite the distances between us.