What is this little word that stares at me with two eyes?
Is it oogling me?
Is one of those eyes going to wink at me
And say, hey baby, come on over to the big W?
To which, I would roll my eyes.
Maybe they are sweet puppy dog eyes.
Kind, patient, ever faithful
The kind that walk you home
Through the woods
Never turning wolfish.
They might be gimlet eyes
Fixing me in a formulated phrase
Sprawling me on the wall
Pinned and wriggling,
Making me question me;
Or at least why I am not with you.
Perhaps they are simply curious
Wondering who I am
Who we might be
If we danced one dance
Or two.
It all begins with a look
A one-time glance
Maybe by chance
Sometimes by design
Then you step in once
Or twice
And oooh-oooh-oooh
When you look at me the way you do
When you woo, woo, woo me
I slip, slip, slip
In a puddle of goo.

The practice is inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye and her notion that words are like oars. Dip them in the water. Explore with them. Feel how they touch and bump up against one another. Let them take us further down the stream.