A Word

Each one a crystal jar
crouching on a dusty wooden shelf.
Waiting for the writer to pick it up,
contemplate it -
a glowing ball of fire,
warm in the palms of her hands.
Finally, the writer tips the jar,
pouring a drop of the syrupy liquid
on the blank page -
where its shimmering smudge
adds its fingerprints
to the kaleidoscope of poetry.