wordsmith

 

 

This year, I'll use my brush more.

Study as coating separates on primer where bristles meet wall;

wet pigment forming bubbles and breaking like skin on cold surfaces.

 

Mix ores and stains with silk and cashmere;

I'll fix the cracks in my ceiling, leave the ones in my soul - make this space

a clean, well-lighted place to write. Paint you poems in borders and trim.

 

And I'll use my words more.

Sketch you a masterpiece full of tongues - build lead-lined portraits of language.

I'll lift your eyebrow with my larynx.

 

 

I'll be your jack-of-all-trades.

 

 

 

You'll call me a wordsmith.