Poem 3

On Finding Meaning

Beneath this there will be letters
And beneath letters, words
But words seek the mellow, yellow-green
Of meaning found softly
Fluttering southward to fields of cut grass
And chopped stocks of feathered dandelions

Words seek flight
In the broad, taught wing of a fresh sparrow
With the wind whipping, cutting, splicing
Through. Stripping meaning, worth, value
Connections

Voices seek words
But find only letters
The red, deep gashes in the flesh 
Of rippling limbs
Defeated and struggling
If only all the letters would bind to make a body
A fighting body, alas
Only a mamed carcus.

Above this there are letters, all letters
Maybe words to some ears, eyes
Lungs.
But no meaning. The lack of meaning
The lack of connections.
Flightless, castrated feathered dandelions.
Only weeds.

–ECW

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