Treasure

I need you to bridge

the gap for me

to arc the lightning again 

and set fire to the forest of words

because my ideas 

are winding down like a child’s toy

overloved and worn

and despite my will

to have the flames leap up again

the embers continue to sink

and be extinguished 

one after the other.

In your absence 

I can always seed the beds of poetry 

with frustration 

and hope that poems 

will flower again in a distant summer

because inspiration 

cannot be purchased 

or forced in a hothouse of words

but only given as a gift

suitable for the season 

of exchanging such presents 

except I have found nothing

that you desire 

to give to you in return.

After all

what treasure is suitable 

to add to the golden hoard 

of a creature who already has wings

and is possessed of years of wisdom 

and beyond my cache of synonyms 

piled nut-like in the bole

of my tree of knowledge 

I don’t have many gifts.

The fairy godmothers

showed up in the summer of my birth

handing out utility wishes

like earnestness and perseverance

and a desire for justice

which rarely serve me 

when the circle of my life 

intersects with others

except to fill the wellspring of anger

that bubbles beneath my heart

and keeps me moving forward 

for other fuel I must look to you

and desire that you deliver to me

stars and comets 

that I may knead them

into the bread of poems.

Zmey Gorynych, a three-headed dragon from Russian folklore.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon#/media/File:Ivan_Bilibin_065.jpg