Saturday, May 23, 2015

Who Makes Poems, Anyway?

There’s a bug on the mailbox
doing not a thing but be-
ing there, unaware of me

for I am now at my desk
making this poem, loving 
the bug that I still see there

with a sense of awareness 
that is not my own and may
well be shared with all I’m not.

The bug knows me not and I
know it not, and in that space 
of unknowing, we are known

as one, so it makes sense that
the bug be the author of 
this poem in the making.

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