Miniature Paradise


   I speak a poem every day.

   Or more, I see it

   And let it speak through me.

   The poem herself is free

   To dart about in the golden air

   Like a moth to a flower

   Flits under flaming sun,

   And I am the one

   To catch a glimpse of this

   Miniature paradise:

   A picture of wings with eyes.

   And someday I, too, shall fly

   Freely, to spark a dream

   Inside another soul

   Looking for sounds that feel

   Like what it means to be real,

   And how it tastes to be whole.

Jamie Bagley