Caged

As I said to him (a friend),

All my writings thus far are but the pitiful scratch marks

of some caged animal trying to claw its way through bars—

Everything I’ve written—just a bunch of scratch marks!

There were always in the back the eyes that saw more.

There was always far back of the tongue a Voice that had not

yet spoken.

There was always another person back there who knew more,

who was always waiting for an opportunity to reveal more.

So the weary animal is now shown something remarkable—

The door of its cage was closed, yes, but never locked.

Today the animal stops a moment and sees that.

2001