The Poet, par Ronald Erling Nilson

The Poet

Words touched my eyes

with a snap of his wrist -

I made a bed

between the pages -

and climbed into the sorrow

to rest in myself.

(2014)

A simple paean to all the poets read over the years.

It’s always there - the town where I grew up - in the mind’s eye - like a speck of dust on the eyebal… just off to the side.

I saw you on the boardwalk - tight-roping along the wooden slat… or gliding with gulls above the beach umbrellas -