THE POET SPOKE

(For Enid)

Like amphibians stranded upon rocks

Standing too long exposed

Above a once deep pond,

We eagerly awaited the words

The poet was spilling like a spring shower

Into the depression of the arena.

Between each poem, in the silence—

Wet and slippery—

We lapped at the startling, clear droplets

Which slid slowly down into our consciousness.

We floated; we swam in the depths

Of the now rain-freshened pool,

Relishing the slip of cool water

Across our dry and sunburned skins.

At last, water-slicked and shivery,

We climbed once more into the sun.