Do not fall in love with a writer
unless you are willing to open yourself
to the inevitability of their description
for at first with the best harvest
the vintage will be sweet and lingering
with notes of honey and wild
as sure seasons turn
their fingers pressed on your pulse
will catch the days of sorrow
blurred behind storm
and reading yourself
translated
isn’t for the faint hearted
or those without touchstone
it is like a ship wrecked out to sea
blown far off course
losing compass
be weary of how you are understood
when the painter dips their brush
seeking inspiration