Oh, what I’d give to have given my life to art,
and to have been good at it,
so that people might speak
my words aloud,
mimic my breath,
some going so far as to memorize
a stanza or two, or pick up pens
and craft imitations
that outshine the original.

But, I’m no once-in-a-generation talent,
no voice of my times,
no mover of masses,
no Bob Dylan.

So then, what’s the point?

Rubbing two words together
I create sparks 

— even in downpour —

for this one soul to make his way by.