Its a challenge,

issued from me to me

let’s not see what Webster says,

we dare not look to a boxed, canned definition of this of all things, though many do and that’s fine too,

it is the first cousin of freedom,

that’s enough for now,

no,

we’ll open the window to the soul and listen for how the heart defines it, what it says

 how it shapes,

with blood, and those pulsing veins, with bone and marrow tacked on too

and flesh, the skin, the cover

the words, they walk out like happy preschool

little ones at recess filled with  pregnant wonder of  running free

oh how they will run when the heavy school door opens and out they go.

the words, they wait on you,

come play, and bring your finest whimsy with you,

come dance, bring your dancing shoes,

we will breathe and I will wait

I will wait  and we will  pause

period

And understanding, heart and mind

and art , they will collide

down the playground slide

one atop another

into a heap of joy- squeeling, happy, word joy

they land, so soft.

And at the bottom

they are there

the words.

pick them up, dust them off,

and glean the poetic from the pile,

of words.

And if you find the thrill too short, that slide it always is

then get in line,

and down you go,

flailing, joy-filled down you go,

its at that bottom that you breathe,

and take a lingering look back up

at how you held your breath, and fully llived

whizzed right down

the short,

exhilaration

that was

the poem.