Letters, numbers, marks–they compose
the permanent skin we weave around
the indistinct vivacity of our thoughts.
Every wave, a surface;
Every stone, a weight;
Every light, a star
or some more earthly flame–how
does expression beg its proper form?
Mastery, I tell you,
whenever am I to be read,
eludes us . . . .
Copyright 2014 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.