If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.
with the puzzle
of what was to be my next poem.
Separating the magnetic pieces of words
on the table.
Shuffling them into phrases
but mostly among
all of the words.
An admirer asked,
“Have you written anything recently?”
with a nod and held-breath and widening eyes
I replied with a slow head-shake.
and a sigh,
then realized what I had not done
-placed myself inside the poem-
I left the table
until perhaps tomorrow.