Where Does Poetry Begin

Poetry often starts outside of one's self – on a distant hill or near greenhouse shelf; our-cultivations as the consideration of a grafted rose goes; the meandering, dripping of a stream or nose; submerging of our toes in chilling clarity – we see to the bottom, sometimes fooled by depth – or that of a winged flight, wingtips tossing sparks of light, dipping and scooping winged ladles of air, unseen but yet we see them there, pouring out there, back into our fanciful sky, our fanciful eye -- in a heart's invested sigh -- up high in the atmosphere, sighted unseen spirit -- looking and listening for the echo of angels -- turning us more inward, where deeper observation and motion begins, the pen is lifted, and the paper stained finally, fondly into lyrical submission –