The Composition Of Shadows (Ii) Poem by Michael Burch

"I made it out of a mouthful of air."—W. B. Yeats

We breathe and so we write;
the night
hums softly its accompaniment.

Pale phosphors burn;
the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.

And what we mean
we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants'

strange golden weight,
the blood's debate
within the heart. Here, resonant,

sounds' shadows mass
against bright glass,
within the white Labyrinthian maze.

Through simple grace,
I touch your face,
ah words! And I would gaze

the night's dark length
in waning strength
to find the words to feel

such light again.
O, for a pen
to spell love so ethereal.

Originally published by Contemporary Rhyme