Because words jump into your mind
as you walk, dance in your ears.
You love the shape sound feel of them. 

Because you cannot stop the bombs
end the wars save the children. 

Because a stranger in a cafe says
“my second ex-wife” and your mind
jumps the fence, a young horse
running for sheer joy. 

Because of the careful way your mother
folds a shirt, smoothing warm cotton
with twisted fingers. 

Because you can’t paint
or write a symphony, yet
you need to preserve
this perfect pink seaside dawn. 

Because you see your shadow
on a moon-bright night and you
are ten years old again, freshly
bathed, wrapped in flannel,
shivering to “The Highwayman.” 

Because fitting sounds and syllables
creating architecture on the page
absorbs you more than crosswords. 

Because this is how you bow down.

Because sometimes the only way
to say it is slant.