Lost poets

It’s amazing, isn’t it?

Poetry, poems, words dancing with each other. Close and tight, loose and free. Verbs, nouns, adjectives, transitive rejoinders. Swirling, swirling and swirling.

Somehow the meaning appears between the gaps, in the space and the pause. In the returns and cadence.

Words rushing headlong into each other to find new significance, to find unexpected delight.

What truth awaits us between the lines?

What truth reveals itself everlasting?