! A Love Poem To A Poem

for there’s what you planned to write about, and what you find yourself writing about; perhaps find yourself, while writing about.. and there’s the poem itself; did you consult it about what its plans were? and when it’s got itself written, gone where it wanted to, said what it wanted to say, become what it wanted to become, do you really know what it’s finally and really about? is it telling you more about you than you knew yourself? is the poem writing you? did we, as with the unicorn, feel the unspoken need for it, and it became? in some other world, did two grains of dust change places? did a new sort of light shine on a new sort of place in some new sort of time? poems are like cats: we think we own them; they allow us certain rights, but they own us. this is a love poem to a poem