Someone said my words are a street musician
playing a guitar next to a hat full of quarters,
for an audience of passersby
Someone said my words are a mural
painted on the wall of an old office building,
read by many, remembered by a few.
Someone said my words are a school yard ballet.
Choreographed by the blind,
performed by children too clumsy to know better.
She says my words are magic:
silk scarves pulled from
She should know, since she
read them first and
has all the originals.