from the archives – a house built with words

I’ll try to explain
the spirit closeness –
as poets –
we share.

Which are
the magnets
that draw us
to the center?

A double violin
concerto there
nourishes my soul.

Might we build a house
with words? A shelter
from the outside crass
and craziness?

Outside –
the spin, the winds
of idiots’ howls
and screams
beckon our exchange,
our participation.

But we resist,
and carefully lay
each level of bricks –
these words.

A Friday poem is
an accident,
an oversight,
a second thought –

until I get some
matching verse –
in a message
from afar –
from you.


Author: Raymond Maxwell Librarian, archivist-in-training, retired foreign service officer and Navy veteran.

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