I place a word on the tip of my pen
to test the wind that will give it wings.
Do I dare let it be a crow, inky bitter,
dark prophecy wrestled from my tongue
where silence debates with consequence?
Or should it be hope’s feather plucked
from sunlight’s robin singing from
the timid limbs of spring?
Light flirts with sapphire strokes of ink
as I shuffle through the alphabet wondering
which words I’ll draw from poet’s tarot.