Certain Poems Need to Be Released From Their Cages*

I stopped what I was doing  
got very still, breathing like I do when I hear noise
outside my room at night. 
 
I listened to my poem.  
It told me to stop expecting, 
stop thinking 
and be there for it.

I squeezed it out. 
Wanting to be a word chef and 
feed my friends a poem. 
No. That wasn’t it.

The poem peeked out at me again and said 
I want to say to you what the wind says to you 
and what the warm breezes say.  
Now, listen.

I stopped to listen. 
I took from my book of seeds and crumbs.  
I wanted to share a story like the stories that begin with, “Yesterday, I…”, or “I heard this…”, or “Can you imagine…”.

I stopped chasing the poems. 
I let the poem catch me.  

The poem may hold you for a moment, 
then let you go, 
or it may become part of you 
and you are one.

*Title quote-attributed to Robt. Bly