Bargain

The voice of a good poet
is not easily won.
There are mumbling ghosts
between you and the working of words 
who in their withering desire
offer you nothing,
drooling and slackjawed,
ravenous for your attention,.
You can spend your life arguing with them.

When you have walked resolutely past
and have become very quiet
suddenly god and the devil will both knock on the door.
You don't have to let them in
but if you don't you'll never know
if you could create
something with tender flesh
that is sweet and sinful.

In the end you must sit under the oak
and trade your eyes for the autumn day,
sewing the yarn of your mind
into falling yellow leaves.