and what at some other time <br />I’d call a luxury – or others would – <br /> <br />it’s not, it’s – oh – rightness - <br />used rightly... <br /> <br />like now, aslant in the reclining chair, <br />the patio door open just enough <br />to bring air into the room, <br /> <br />March air which feels like the most <br />precious commodity, substance, gift, grace, <br />where, how, could I say; <br /> <br />and the book of poetry held loosely, <br />glanced at occasionally; <br /> <br />some phrases, some words, of Tom’s <br />growing timelessly, flowering, <br />seeding a generosity of new poems <br />too formless to call mine <br /> <br />but the warmth of his heart <br />makes mine to expand, and <br /> <br />boundless now; the mind too, boundless; <br />a boundlessness of poetry; <br />then, now, always; so that <br /> <br />in this moment, heart, mind, poetry, boundless, <br />there’s complete liberation; <br />beyond luxury, beyond necessity <br /> <br />and poems may or may not be, <br />for being’s all…<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-necessity-of-luxury/
