POET

 

Language led him to the brink of silence,
he sought out vision till starfish, sunflower,
and blow-torch flame, all near-blinded him.
He’d sniff the wind, drunk on the world’s fragrance,
at music his body cried out to dance,
irresistible, that strain again.
His tongue pursued what no taste-buds
had ever found edible. Sparks flew
at his touch; they left his hands forever scorched.