I thought I could write water
out of thin air,
wring rain from this morning’s
perfect sky
into a bucket of words –

Might come in handy
if I get lost in the desert,
or need to put out a fire
or two.

Then, in my ambition,
could my verse claw clods and stones
from the earth
and dig my own grave?
Or at least shore up
the fastness of my heart?

From the other room
you remind me, my love,
that I’m not a smart man.

A smart man would put down his pen
for the nonce,
and come back to bed.



For April Poem-a-Day

9 thoughts on “Ambition

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