By Wendy Dunn

Can poetry die

When words mark meaning

On a page?

No

Not simply mark

But explode

Into architecture

Imaginary gardens

living toads

My heart

Beats

Poem fragments

Jotted down

At night

Between awake and sleep:

Crystal waters

Sunlight kissed

Tinkered over rocks

I blinked

Water and light

Shattered

into stars

Lovers on the escalator

Hand in hand

No one else

In the world but them

Ah, let me believe

In romance

Rustling rush of rain

Rattles my window

I listen, thinking about

My novel

Blanche spoke with

A Welsh lilt

‘My Queen, my lamb,’

She said

Life’s hard

It’s a crying shame

Get over it

Deal with it

Listen to your heart

And be true to what

You believe

Language speaks

Gives us back

The past

Seemingly alive

And now… and always

The Once and Future King

Words toss

Stepping stones

Between you and I

Together we cross

Making, creating

Making art

Creating anew

Cogito, ergo sum

Poetry dying?

I don’t think so

Image by Carli Jeen