The authority on poetry pauses; br the world holds its breath. This head – greybeard, br skinhead – forehead already lined br with self-imposed responsibility for br the continuance of the known world, br applies itself. The word is, br discrimination. The fingers curl br like scalpel? like talons? around br the ballpoint of the turning world, br the keys that tap the dew of mercy br or beat the bitter rain of judgment on the poet’s brain br br somewhere in the world br a childish head bent br over a desk clutching br awkwardly a chewed ballpoint br with total absorption br summons the unwieldy letters br that one day will greet each other in br the boundless heart br and write the first great poem br of a new age beyond all br imagining save his or hers br br nestled in her favourite secret place - br look, there she is, where br the sunlight catches the leaves at br the end of the garden, by the woods – br a girl, her head caught in a golden halo br of magic, reads a book in a land where br time and place have paused br to read with her br br blest are they that give. br blest are they that receive.