WHAT POETS DO
that the small rain down can rain,
Christ, that my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again...
~ Anonymous, 14th century
The poet walks alone,
because this is what poets do
with every breath she takes,
and all around her
their miniature heart-fists pulsing
transcribing the music
The little fragment of verse at the top was the first poem I fell in love with--in high school--and is probably the reason I became a poet...