Somthing like the original
conception, this was.
Instead of, "Come to me to be born,"
you said, "If you can't come to me,
then send me a poem."

So I wrote you one and discovered how easy
it was, and how good.

You wrote me back and told me how
You had read it over
and over, and found new treasures
within each time.
And I rode on those waves
of recognition and elation.

And in a dormat place somewhere
inside of me, a light went on
and a seed began to sprout, responding
to the yellow light you shone on me.

And then I made a book of old and new
To give to you and the others in my golden circle.

And you
And the others
took it in silence.