remember me

A poet’s words will reach across time,
subject, and silence

remembering when
and forgetting why the daffodil waits,
or is it the other way around?

my shoulder is my heart, aching
from holding up the world
to make sure it gets to the right person,

an alliance lingers within the conscience of great men
tempering the soul to offer solace
between the cups of mysterious flavor;

I trace at myself the tendency within them
“in time of daffodils who know the goal
of living is to grow” ~ E.E. Cummings

where a genius could never suppose
but the nature of beings
as small as us is the ignition,
(and this, it understands)

dreams are made,
legends do not die,
we are one in the same.