The Possible

I caught it here today,
That state, that realisation,
That shifting constant Possible
Of fragrant inspiration.

If words were numbers,
Lining up to form their different meanings,
There’s never any end to all the ways
Those numbered words could reach out to our feelings.

To shift a four from here to here,
And put a nine in there,
Is what lies in the poet’s art
To form those poems fair.

And when you catch that Possible,
It opens up to you,
The vibrant garden words grow in,
Infinite, varied, new.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp