A brief coupling
Words that rhyme
some people think of as poetry.
It must be, others opine,
musings ingeniously inspired
or stilted profundities, oddly arranged.
Some insist upon evocative phrasing
or words obscure and impenetrable
and yet poetry is not words at all
but a redolence that drifts
through the bars of our cages
or not even that but a dark, bloody,
nuanced display at a moment’s notice
on bright, open leaves, stolen like a breath
from the reader’s chest, a brief coupling
alluding to, more or less,
the gasping, thunderous truth;
a hint of the ultimate affinity
for which every heart pines.
O child of God, why ever endeavor
to put into words what true poetry is?
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