To keep my brain nimble and, um, creative, I’ve decided to start a Thursday poetry tradition here. I can’t promise the poetry will be awesome, or inspiring, or even good. But once upon a time I fancied myself a bit of a bard. So, here goes. Delight and the Word Delight and the Word met in a fever dance under the shadow of the ship’s mainsail– the creak of weathered wood and the hum of the engines played counterpoint. When the Word’s mouth opened, all was softness and breath, the hushed moist maw of the Beginning and End. But Delight was wilder and her hands were fleur de sel; her…