I
I unhand it
To fly through space
And land upon the page.
To go
Where no words
Have gone before.
A soul
Where once flew,
An unmanned phrase.
Without
Purpose nor,
Life-giving punctuation
II
From mission control
I watch its flight.
Its path is true.
So many missions before
Have foundered,
Failed to return.
But every word slain,
Or laid to rest to date
Was not in vain nor misplaced.
The word is
At work
And the race is over.
IV
For this one,
This one will reach its orbit.
A rocket ship of ambition
Released from its berth
To be spied with wide-eyed
Imagination from earth.
One small word to you
One bold work to me.
Simon Denegri Poetry 