for Judy Minear
Though I grew up in disenchanted times,
Engulfed by a sad Existential void,
In recent years, assisted by my rhymes,
I’ve found a way my life can be enjoyed.
To sit and to compose a verse like this,
I weave an incantation as I spell
Each syllable that leaps the dark abyss
Arriving here—from where I cannot tell.
Some inner voice, some spirit guide, some Muse
From somewhere I can only call Beyond
Enchants my mind with words that seem like clues
To something grand with which we correspond.
Composing verse has reenchanted me;
Now may my chants reveal that mystery.