I AM A POET ( or am I?)
This dilemma has been with me for a long time.
Being a poet is a kind of living in the world
or so I’ve been told.
Eyes open, heart forward, bracing for miracles
making themselves known
until they eat at you.
Like eyeing the cactus in the kitchen for the first time
or realizing your friend wears a lonely face.
I go hunting for poems,
shaking them awake inside me,
imagining what will be and
won’t be written.