Let's take a poem and raise it towards the sky

Let's take a poem and raise it towards the sky, Observe its play of light like a diverse slide film, Allow the sun to whisper its hidden hues, And through it, let dreams flow like rays through leaves. Or bring it close like a resonant glass to our lips, To hear the sweet rustle that rises from it, muse-like vibrations, Listening to how it chirps, buzzes, moves, Like bees in their honeycombs woven with lavish wax. I propose we unleash within the poem a paper mouse, To watch it nibble verses in clever search for an exit, To wander through the chambers of poetry, trembling in the dark, Until our pale fingers press the allegorical switch. I'd like us to ski across the surface of the verse, Leaping over constructs and images with mirth and light momentum, Waving to the author, left ashore in a fluttering goodbye, In a world where words are waves and rhymes are wind. But they, in their eagerness, see the poem bound with ropes, They throw it in a chair and torture it for confessions and wonders, They beat it with the hose of questions, demanding it reveal The unfathomed secret, what it truly means, who it resembles. They want to knead and skin it, to forcibly extract its core, Instead of walking it, feeling it, discerning its priceless and steady beauty, To discover that poetry cannot be captured in the snare of simple understanding, But it floats, pirouetting in light, interweaving the unseen with the boundless and holy.