To a Young Poet
Be the first path coming into focus
on a night full of stars.
Be the star that ripens on the vine.
O shining star of new energy!
Be the question at the heart of everything.
Be a savvy eater of the absurd,
glad to escape the eyes of search dogs.
O great tide spirit! O great leaf
of hope painted by the moon!
Be a lightning rod about to change
into a crimson bone of contention.
Always be the shimmering wall
that extends from faith to autonomy.
O satellite of the corn!
O song of the mountain!
Be a green chair of honor
in the sewing room of originality.
Be a courier of love for the rest
of September, any damn love
that’s puzzling to the waves.
Once smitten, you are alive
with the sound of the surf.
Clifford Saunders