The poet parses first light

                                    First birdsong

                                                First thought

                                    First memory

                        First chant

For a string of letters

That ties together this very moment

With ancient childhood memories

Of painting stick figures

In a cave & flying in stellar silence.

In Pittsburgh.

He surveys his dream home

In a stand of White Mountain forest

Thickened & heightened by years

Of sunlight, rain, wind, snow and seed,

Now reduced to black

By the single selfish strike

Of a match —

He scratches his beard,

Tries to make sense of it,

Enters a heart that whispers

The language of the elders,

Writes down what he hears,

Polishes it, finds its rhythm,

Delivers pearls to the yearning spirits

Of those who came to hear

This robust Merlin

Alchemize the words

with his eyes, lips and expansive arms

& deliver the poem-children

of spirit and nature.