Ars Poetica

after Archibald MacLeish's poem of the same name

A poem should be smooth,
worn slick as supper plates
waiting in warm water

going cold
as the night wears itself out.

Damp as a basement
with graffiti-rough walls,
no college degree in sight.

A poem should shoulder
the burden.

A poem can't do the dishes 
because it’s too busy
doing nothing.

A poem is the time between 
when I realize I don't love you
and the day I say it out loud 
in an empty room.

A poem takes its time. 

Running, as the mountain pulls
me close,
boulder by boulder, my legs 
gasp poetry under their breath.

Leaving, as the elk bounded 
from the meadow
the night of blazing vodka stars.

A poem should be equal to:
open windows.

The way the curtains catch 
the sunlight, paint a perfect slant
across the linen.

For love
the crooked house and two hands
in the dishwater - 

A poem should not mean
but be.