Poets are made by mode of enchantment,
and mine has been an exquisite one.
It comes from our common ground,
sometimes from dark underground,
even from sparkling highs of heaven.
Some days, somewhere, untied to myself,
world loses the poet and gains the autist,
till a good soul recognizes me,
reconnecting the mode,
like an out of order gadget.
Published in Red Wolf Journal, May 21, 2016.
edilsonmeloferreira 