To a Friend and Writer

You know the names of sounds,
in you the colours live,
your words are sensitive
(you know the names of sounds)
to the blind electric arc
by which the senses give
light to be revealed
(in you the colours live)
by words.
Like grass-blades glisten
your blended words, reminder
of darkness in the field,
gentleness in the petal.

Poet-brother, as you wander
the city moorland, listen
to the words of rain upon metal.

Then let your poetry spark!

Pierced quiet is your field.

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