Ars Poetica: An Invitation

Grab your pen.

Check the hemlock branch
beyond the window ledge,
the squirrels chasing shades --
chasing seconds
after weeks of rain --

as they scamper through
the birch, its leaves,
laced close beside the fence.

Watch -- you'll catch the gentle

weave of light,
rays bending smooth,
to refract through
bark and branch, the needles,
their harlequin neighbor fronds.

Then, after scud of storm
has blown, has blustered by --
its rainbow, its dew drops

will be yours
to rescue in your eyes,
savor safe in your sight,

as you sit beside me,
settle your mind, and lift
your halting wrist,
your timid pen,
to write.