Hidden pools

My spirit falters at my lips,
for my voice is weakened by hesitance.
Yet I thrive in fountains of ink,
painting the abstract behind my teeth,
clenched to suppress,
to hide the shame of the quiver,
the stutter, the swallow, the break,
that might muddy intention and conviction.

Hidden pools lay dormant
within sinister thickets of reeds and thorns,
awaiting a plume of discovery
to flume them of their rich resources,
as fluid, formless ideas dream of legs,
aching to run and dance with abandon
upon a limitless canvas,
to at last be understood.

- MgAl