My Response to this magical image: Oh, yes. A poem is A thing that wants to be caught, but only by someone who can and who wants it for exactly what it is. You and I are poems.
Ungraceful and caught-up in historic suffering The nights are full of bad thoughts, If you let them in. I let them in. The bad thoughts give way to names Names of people and places Uncovering memories necessary to That letting go of pain. They crumble to reveal the names of emotions Categorization, measurable, and real….