THE LETTERS AND THE WORDS

Someone has written
That letters lie on the page
Like small black dead things,
Or, perhaps asleep. The rage
Or joy that gives words wings
Requires they be infused,
That they be smitten with a thought
Make them enthused
That their stiff legs
Would wiggle in delight
To taste the sauce of mind.
They must become the pegs
Hammered into the wall of night
That it be cracked so dreams
Filled with fright, with light,
With all the depth and height
Of memories tight stacked
Come crashing out
To growl and cry
And laugh and shout.