Write me
a poem like the early spring, pluck
me a chord like a green flower-stem.
Open the dance where we know all the steps
to these known tunes that never will end.
Weave me
a curtain to let in the light. Cast
me a rainbow without any dye.
Spin me a question without an exam
and sit open beneath this expanse.
Twinkle
a star for me up in the sky. Grant
me a Balaam to thwart and reply.
Sing me a lyre that can silence a Saul.
Spring me a poem that will never upend.
Pray me a bottomless ever Amen.
The Consolations of Writing 