Enan Poem by RIC BASTASA

did i tell you
that a poet was not born in a day?
oh, it takes a lifetime
to become one,
it takes a thousand years
of sensitivity
to feel the thorns of a worm
the skin of the porcupine
it will take another thousand years
to tell which is green
which is blue
from the blind eyes of the
fingers
i must tell you
the poems may have come
not in trickles
for they come not but in a flash flood

in a flash of lightning
stabbing the mountains
in the roar of thunder in the bellies
of the tigers

oh well, they have all been there
we only need to discover.