The quiet child plays

In the light coming down 

From high in the kitchen window.

The sunlight slants in

Like rain rains down,

And it waters the imagination.

Buttercups and willows grow

Around the dining room table,

But under the table

The quiet child

Watches poems come to life

And breathes the gasses they exhale

As they breathe her exhalations.

A symbiotic relationship is formed.

The poet needs art,

And art needs the poet,

And meanwhile, Love is reheated,

And served as leftovers

On top of the dining room table.

Will Love ever be eaten 

Fresh,and piping hot

By the artist, by the poet?

Sometimes, fully grown, I dream

That I take you under that table,

And together art and poetry 

And Love all live together,

Piping hot, and fully satisfied.

-jenn