In every poem
I have ever written
there is a character
somewhere
hidden beneath the folds of text
and enjambment

The sleuth
is its name
gained by
the unmistakable nebulous nature
of its very flesh

I have never
in all my shallow time alive
been witness the sleuth in
a natural habitat

for the sole reason
that the sleuth
this hidden unfathomable
being
has no nature
or preoccupation

It is alien
of the highest calibre
and will exist
long after
my poems
stop
unfolding
their
wings.