Ars Poetica

I am no more
than a fleeting stutter
of an eyelid....
a humming bird
that flutters
in wild jasmine.

I have tasted the rain,
drunk from purple
mountains – flown
through a waterfall’s mist,
seen summer rain
sculpt circles
in champagne

but I have never
met a unicorn, nor
leapfrogged
over toadstools,
nor kept
fallen stars
in a jar

but I can climb
inside the mind
if I so choose...
treading, so softly,
its labyrinth of rooms.