How can we hold harmless
the jealousy of poets,
artists of the mind who articulate
where others flounder,
dry-docking on their facts?
Words spoken burn daylight
and time cannot retract itself,
no excusing, bowing out.
Forgive us then, the endless pondering,
refining knee-jerks, transforming;
editing reserved for the pensive
turning corners with phrases,
rounding bends of the imagination.