He wishes to speak clearly
The brain, but the associations. Why
The sound of a sitar is not as hot
As the crunch of snow. The sitar leads, by
Memories' path, to olive oil, a door
That stands open, whereas the snow sound leads,
By that same way to firelight on the floor.
Words that others use always carry seeds
Of things in my mind, that I want to show
On paper, in words or images that
Others can read; have those seeds go and grow
In other minds, that they would know, get at
The things I mean rather than, as today,
To get along with what I write or say.