The poet is a hunter To capture the unseen Like a heirophant riding A feather as a chariot One that floats without Reins or consequence The poet sets the trap For tangerine skies That drip gold into oceans Leaving an empty canvas Where potential remains The poet is the creator of nets To collect the flying fish That swim in the privets The poet is a hunter A taxidermist of words and wonder A taxidermist of first love and last Memories that drip away Are collected with words by the poet who sets them in amber
The Tiny Poet 