My poem: A poem 

I play with the bird on my arm 

and caress it gently with my palm 

I see the procreation of a sentence 

a phrase lithe on my thinking sense 

I wrap it around my wrist like a bracelet 

roll it on my body till it’s wet with my sweat 

I am rapt in my patient wait 

to see it become heavy like a bait 

I am loaded with expectation like an athlete, 

like a reporter on a revealing beat 

Two phrases cast me in their spell 

A rosary of beads forms like chants after a bell 

I feel cocooned even as the chrysalis awakens 

The fabric is woven, the loose threads forsaken 

My page is lined, I become them… 

the little flames of words of my poem