He became a poet because he could not fly

The sea was just its soughing or
it was its rage. If he could see
into its soughing or into
its rage he thought he might transcend

the book. He might become the sea
and sough and rage beyond the page.
Perhaps he might refute the sea,
as terns refute the sea and dive

into the foam to catch a shard
of light and rise again. From here,
the surf and sky and sea were one,
and he and book and bird were one,

but he could not become the sea,
nor could he run into the surf
to catch between his teeth the fish,
which high upon the air would make

him seem another wave of light.

Copyright © 2004 Adam Penna All rights reserved
from Cimarron Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission