Not a Word

Not A Word homage to Sarah Teasdale the poem has no beginning bright iambic molecules escape the empty net of language ambition arcs through abstract ink clouds wordless shadows scrape the broken house upstairs there's a novel unfolding syllables like dollars piling up it's good therapy the poetic hole punched through swept up and patched to look like new each revision stalls in silence cold pronouns underline me the poem unwritten holds a book above my head it's Sarah smiling softly the moon is in her bed