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
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