! ! I Read Your Poem

In olden days we would have said things like an act of grace, an endeavour noble in intent, humanity at its most heroic, the heart speaking, the soul’s voice and why not indeed I read your poem. I have nothing much to say and yet everything to say; writing a poem is all of those and every real poem is one great step for humankind in you, an archaeology of the soul, a self-exposure, a challenge so what I have to offer you is respect. Pure, real, boundless, known respect; you’ll read your poem back and your next will take account of that better than any comment or advice of mine; we’re both poets; we both know that we’re engaged on a cosmic task, on the kitchen table, and it’s no less than those images from the Hubble of nebulae, stars exploding and colliding and being formed; being formed.