statues still cry copious amounts

unquestionably miraculous

but you can squeeze a thousand miracles

into every atom of a poem

angels appear out of nowhere

as words do when pen is held to paper

unmoving, unspeaking, the catatonic dreams.

every word is a felony. each line a blasphemy.

poems are miracles. all things are miracles

which are kept in their purest state.

there are poems. and there is nothing else.

august 12 /03 didsbury AB