How He Named Himself
He was magician
At the back of his tongue
Language awoke
Invoked the porous senses
In example, the word “blue”
From his mouth
Fell into air
Unfurled before his eye
To fill an ocean
Or a cloudless sky
Breezed with recollection
Bitter and sweet
Like summer drowned in heat
Other words named other seasons
Spring’s flushed lovers and mothers
Fall’s jealous kings and princes
A blush of yellow stamen
Vain, reduced to bare reflection
While legions tolled to war
Because he said “winter”
And Krakatoa split
And every illness known to man
Rattled into silence
Until his lips shaped “time”
With all its varied futures
Claiming death and birth
Irrelevant, like glacial ice
Though he never said “ice”
Because “cold” would do
Or “lonely”
A chill on the skin
Squeezed down to marrow
With all the scenes he wove aloud
Chorused, plural tenses
In a singular verb
The act that names him “poet”
Rae Spencer 
Ohhh. “…the word “blue”
From his mouth
Fell into air
Unfurled before his eye
To fill an ocean.”
gave me shivers of delight.
“Though he never said “ice”
Because “cold” would do
Or “lonely.””
Oh, to choose words so right, as you do, Rae.
Jean
I loved this – wonderful poem!!
Thank you!
How I wish I could be a poet worthy of this profound description,
Beautifully writ
Loved the bare bones of your trees . . .
Shar
Shar, Your poetry IS worthy! (For any readers who wish to explore Sharon’s writing, I recommend here and here and here.)