I do not consider myself to be a poet. I have friends and
family who are great poets. I read their work in awe. How do they do that? I
wonder, find a way with words that open whole new worlds for me. I struggle
with poetry. And so I’m always
surprised when I find myself being poetical. And yet, once in a while,
something happens…
A white crane stands in the water,
sees me
and waits ‘til I’ve had my fill of his beauty.
Slowly, so slowly he lifts
and spells himself across the sky.
Born aloft,
a part of my spirit goes with him
forever.
