The Master

He plays with form the way birds play with air.
Form is his medium.

The words he pours convert the forms to light.
Form is transparent.

An image edges forth. It breathes and talks.
Its language is hypnotic.

When it walks, it takes for form a body,
brain for mind

where thought soon turns to wish
and tedious waiting;

and, thus, becomes
small master of his universe:
heart and soul.