To a Poet, For a Poem

I listen to the darkness,

the beautiful kind

when the lights are off,

and I close my eyes

and see the last light

burned into my mind.

I sit, in my poetry nook,

in the corner of the room,

in a chair, arms leaning, at rest,

my feet propped.

I listen, listen,

ceiling fan low,

box fan high, pointed toward me

to carry the sound

of the silver crackle

of the millionth star

no less wonderful

than the first.

And it might be yours, the only light

in this dark room tonight.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For all you beautiful, amazing poets out there.  Thank you.

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