I type — It taunts
Begging me to spill
Remnants of the madness
Trapped in my mind’s eye…

I am but a stone
Rounding, flattening, smoothing over time
Skipping my way through murky-clear waters of thought…

he
teeters on the edge of danger
an unsuspecting squirrel
on a midnight road…

All I want to do is offer you solace
For my heart often bleeds
as I savor your prose…

A poet’s voice is currency
so too is our truth
transparent emotions…

…in daydreams and spurs,
words pacing, soul craving…

The light of which Ms. Gorman speaks
abounds, I do believe.
A poet’s flame takes guts to ignite
I applaud her bravery…