Bloom!

Wade in -

Gathering reams and reams
of softly - woven verse
lying next to me in a
heap of papers...
(someone once wanted you!)
ready to be bound
in manuals or hard
cover on shelves

I stretch pages
the cloth that clings
to my covetous arms
the print that rails
at me, jarring me
at a moment's notice

attention, silk,
brocade, upholstery,
slivers of spin - offs and
glossy, and porous pages of shiny
faces and metaphors
that dangle willingly
on my tongue and leap as
if off a diving board
into the quiver
of my rosy - white fingers

Fashion hails me
in books and in soft cloth
and I view my apartment
as a silent studio that
never belonged to anyone
other than me

although in jest,
it would have been traversed
with soiled shoes of strangers,
needing things they said I supplied
to no one in particular

Was it a word, then?
Instead of a page?
A yard of fabric
instead of tattered rags
of newspaper print
and silky, slippery ribbons
and many, many more decorative pieces
all fusing

gathering and yearning
to be enfolded
by my arms

I stand as a silent creator.