Poets know what poems mean
even when they don’t know the meanings.
.
They read poems
like people reach for water.
.
We’re all just cats―
meeting
on the only street in town.
Poets know what poems mean
even when they don’t know the meanings.
.
They read poems
like people reach for water.
.
We’re all just cats―
meeting
on the only street in town.
When a jet-red Cardinal flashes past my hammock
on a slow summer afternoon
I suddenly become
another step less
crazy than the moon.
Teach me the trust and love
that move behind your chocolate-brown eyes
like a deep southern river
.
and I’ll teach you
the secret of the doorknob
and give you many a doggy bone
.
―and everything I own.
Like a hippopotamus
dropping into a river
on a long hot afternoon
.
I find myself
stopping
to write this poem
.
and who’s to say I’m not
as deep, as cool, as home?
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