First Words Poem by GLEN SALES

I listened attentively in the past month
To the lecture of my teacher in poetry.

I tried to sink in all his thoughts
That guide me as a neophyte poet.


Now, I stare the old tree longer.
It calls me to the fallen leaves.

Gradual sweeps by the fingers of the wind.

There is an image that I try to build,
There is a rhetoric that is to be extracted,
There is a metaphor that is reflected by words.

The first words that still sit in my mind
First words, I can still never write on this
Tintless paper on my hand.