This is an old piece that has never seen daylight. Several things have come up lately that led me to remember this particular writing. It took a while, because I couldn’t remember the title, only one of the lines in the poem, which I mistakenly thought was the name of the piece. Only I can be grateful for my occasional and sporadic filing system.
Courting Creativity
Am about the business
of wooing that which
is wild within. Shy,
almost feral creature,
raised by unknown
four-legged in high
mountain meadow
of mind. I have only
recently learned to come,
be still, regulate
my breathing.
Dancing out there,
always at a distance,
moving from tree trunk
into shadow, never allowing
me to see except at a slant.
Do not know her name,
can not call her with power
of possession, only know
that she would die
in captivity. Must be
content with glimpses,
sometimes hear whispers
of strange garbled speech,
then attempt to curve
my meager tools
to her cadence.
Having come so late
to this high wild place,
can only sit in silence,
hoping to win her trust
with my steadfastness.
Elizabeth Crawford 4/22/09
Soul's Music 