Discovery of a Poem

Writing a poem does not always seem Like a process of creation, but instead More like a surprising discovery As if a butterfly was fluttering Around inside your soul, and then when you Open your mouth to speak, there it is, look! Impossible, yet there, iridescent, Before your own wide, incredulous eyes And perhaps I am a hypocrite for Wanting to capture it, to pin it down To see if I can find myself between The lines; puzzling out the rythm Of my own heartbeat inside its wingbeats Break it open like a fortune cookie To discover if my love might be true; Is it not cruel to keep it in a jar Contained like so much spice or honey? Then I'll release it to the wind; let it breathe