all poets, without the words

On the way to a meeting this morning,
pinned at an intersection between thoroughfare and highway,
the thought struck me that maybe we're all poets, some just work with words

True, dat:
The trucker to the left of me, writing his ministrations on the asphalt canvas between here and drop off;
The road worker behind him, washed in a driver's profanity, creating hidden dust fractals with each push of the broom;
Both of them scribing hidden symbols and perspectives without the use of a single letter

Drone up and back, up and back;
See the ley lines connecting them both to their families,
and decision trees splitting off from each group
into a rooted system that just a few hops away
creates connections that would make a fungi blush

Sons and daughters working retail before opening;
Brothers and sisters engineering and doctoring and cold calling;
Uncles and aunts raising families;
Inlaws and teenagers and kids and elders full of joy and shit and pathos and courage

Poets all,
writing on the world pallet pre-verbally;
adding to god's wiki built entirely on the Space between words

No index for this work, just visions and symbols and letterless verbs
Moving us all ever onward in the grand picture without borders
that can be ever intuited but never defined

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