Assembling a poem letter by letter in lead type to print on handmade paper is an act of sexual reproduction. Each letter comes from a worn wooden tray,a snippet of the tribe’s DNA code, facile in the hand, expectant.
Words reassemble themselves, replicating their ancient legacy,
ready to construct a new being. The hive mind provides the creative spark. Old stories recombine, sprout new green feathers and take wing.
You can feel the deep joy of nature in it. A happy parent now steps aside knowing the power and the limits of his role.
“Fantastic to feel how my poem is growing/while I myself am shrinking…”
Indeed. Thanks D.