The words come
Fluttering, thundering
Returning from a journey
They only give hints at,
Tickling the imagination
And caressing the heart;
They arrive with no rules to hold them,
And drift into place--
Read aloud, perhaps senseless,
But held quietly, and they grow--
Into feelings envisioned,
Into truths admitted,
Into landscapes of us.
I have learned to love.
From out of your beauty,
how to make poems.
You dance within my chest
where nobody sees you.
But sometimes I do.
And from that sight comes this art.
---Rumi