Have at least one poem, 2016.
I stand beside a frozen lake, searching for the words
Reflected in its surface.
I saw the thoughts in my head
Perfectly positioned on a page.
I knew I could never reach them, inside that watery mirror.
That the meaning of my thoughts, so elegant and clear when on the pedestal of my mind
Would never make a neat transition to paper.
My poetry is messy.
I sit for ages beside the ice, scrabbling until my nails are chipped and blood drips down my fingers.
Tugging at the elusive symbols, shoals of ink and concept
That flitter and disperse.
I clasp one, and it flops, wriggling onto the earth.
Seeking their companion.
Often, I gaze at a mirror,
Admiring the grace and beauty of the shoal.
A dance of emotion and calligraphy.
They are enthralling, ensnaring, invisible.
For no one can see into the mirror but me.
And I remember, that painful and tiring as reaching through the glass can be
No one can eat a fish that’s swimming in the sea.