Here comes poetry, falling like spoons from a shovel,
Eating ever smaller hearts, dropping birch seeds in the wind.
Once on a hill outside Tallinn I ate an imaginary bird.
I sailed all afternoon on a river of vows.
We all have our chosen ones and best places.
It’s too bad there’s never enough language to go around.
Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University
