When Once The Knuckles Of My Poetry:
The Response

When once the knuckles of my poetry
turned like a screw, ghost in the belly,
time unborn like freedom,

where once my little hands hollered,
eyes blinking, I saw your faces
waiting out there somewhere.

I did not know
the other worlds
mentioned in the echoes.

If dolphins glided on the waves
and the noises of the sea
came close to me,

if earth and sky approached,
it was magic---
the singing in my mother’s heart.

The serpents rose out of the foam,
the beach divided sand from sand
but I had no faith in such desires.