FIREWORKS
(On being asked what is the process of writing a poem)
You’ve seen the Grand Finale
Start with a single spark
After which the sky goes dark.
The pause feels interminable.
And then another twinkle,
Faint but unmistakable.
The wait becomes more bearable:
The pattern is predictable.
A snapping, crackling crescendo
Of stuttering gunfire sends
Out strands of blinding light,
Illuminates the looming night.
Likewise can a poem be born:
One spark ignites the dawn.
(January 4, 2014)
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