Held firm and planted firm, sturdy columns of speaking and singing, bridged.
Etch a line with poems, etch a line with music, etch a line with poems, joined by a pillar of people.
Away for months from silk tents and candles, lean inward: reach across the gap.
Rise up, laughing, full-breasted and skirted, voices ripe as wine sluice the fogging air.
This is simple: to stand, to be seen, to be sheltered,
Holding form and planting light, confident columns of listening and humming, connected.
Etch a grin with poems, etch a gaze with music, etch the floor with thoughts, joining the poles with people.
Whatever brings us together, flings us apart, brings us together, flings us apart, is a dance.
Once in the perfect circle of a dim-lit wine-scented singing reciting backroom-of-a-pub-or-maybe-Valhalla
Rear up, galloping, full-breasted and riding, voices ripe as ale wash away the other days:
Distance is a circle cut in half, its diameter irrationally measured, two points straining, bent round the world, to touch.
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, and suggest titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.