The kindergarten tale
of him who walked in naked robes
woven by deceivers
for believers in whatever they are told,
even though they think that they should know.
The story made more sense to me
than anything I heard when I was five
(and most of what I've heard since then)
like baseball and the scent of spring,
words arranged across
and down
the page,
lines,
linen for the contours of the soul
to cover, warm, drift across,
remind us of our wounds.
So I wonder now as words go by,
parades before my squinting eye,
just what the readers really see
in prose that folks call poetry.
|