(After a workshop with John Wellwood)
Words raised up from the deep
like reclaimed treasure,
encrusted, barnacled,
strands of kelp
and an old boot
hangi from a syllable.
You have to soil your hands,
to say anything
as if smuggling diamonds
in a sack of coal.
Three agents man the customs gate–
the inspectors of logic and grammar
and the special agent for word choice.
They check my bag.
“Have you nothing to declare?” they ask.
I’m scared but keep on going.
Later,l the smugglers gather
at the old round tavern in the woods
and brush the soot from one another’s coats.
Diamonds lay everywhere in the dust.
A professional editor for over thirty years, Ed works in a variety of genres. His projects have received publishing and professional awards.