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Were I A Poet

written by: Eli Garcia

 

Were I a poet,
my best work would contain no words
but simply hold forth the contrasting textures of silence.

Here! Run your fingers through these.
Are they not beauty?

And this
the sum of us
pressed between blank pages
offered with silent eyes
and still dance.

And here
breathless joy twined with light and laughter
braided into love's hair with forest bits
spread beneath our tangle
amid gnarled trees and boulders.

And you
my other for most of ever
gift tender witness of all
we may yet be.

And I
so much more
than words
to touch
to say.

Eli Garcia

Eli Garcia

I live reluctantly in Southern California where I alternately celebrate and dread the slow but constant change that becomes so much more pronounced in my life the older I get. My family includes my wife, who is my light and my storm, and my new daughter, who continues to surprise me daily with both her existence and her ability to stretch my capacity for love, and for terror, into previously unimagined territory. I occasionally garden, which I’ve learned to treat as a study in controlled chaos, only without the control. So, my life, like most, is generally full of hopes and dreams, successes and failures, aspirations, trial and error, peeves, inspiration, ignoring of mortality, doing stuff, not doing stuff, and occasionally standing in the backyard gobbling radish pods off the bush with my very excited toddler. A pebble on a beach with billions of other pebbles. Sometimes I write.
Eli Garcia

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Read previous post:
It Was The Same, a poem written by Eliza Segiet at Spillwords.com
It Was The Same

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