I let my poet off her leash,
and, unclipped, she turned
her furry head and shot me
a question—

Really?

Yes, I said. Go ahead.
Run wherever your heart
directs you. Sniff what
catches your fancy.
Gobble up luscious lines.
Lie in greening couplets
and rest when you like.
Chase what verbs need
chasing.

Nose twitching,
she licked possibility,
tasting syllables,
inhaling stanzas, and,
in a blur of metaphor,
I threw the leash away,

as she streaked toward
all those waiting words.