alone, poems are always made
somewhere out on the fuzzy edge
of things where two worlds intertwine
the pulpiest juice spews out
sea and sky earth and sea fire and earth
sky and earth fire and wind water and fire
out there the veiled shaking the tenuous shifting
the curved drifting the spaces laid bare the whispering
down there the cold colliding the subterranean brawling
the white-hot raking the broken barriers the rumbling
up there the restless rising the upshot turbulence
the sudden melting the wind-sheared diving the resurrecting
in there the tormented dancing the quiet gnawing
the night crawling the bloodied twisting the dawning
always, poems are made alone
the determined tracing the insistent fingers the tracking
no team of divers no web no net no school of trawlers
never, because together poems are forever afraid
once made, poems are always alone
they stand apart the old the etched boulders
effaced facing the northward vast dark space
alone, poems resist the fade
the freeze the mists the fickle seasons
the cloudless reasons