How a Poem Writes Me

I firmly grasp my plastic pen
And wave it through the dark'ning air,
As language bids me greet the night.
Then 'cross the page the poem scrawls

Onto evening's balmy wings. Then
Words herd me to their hidden lair
Beyond the realm of human sight;
And language (songs of love) now lulls.

Above the grinding, earthly ken
Images and feelings rare
Parade themselves in spritely might
To illuminate my soul's spare walls.