writing

the poetic moment is not difficult.
it is the thing that catches your eye,
the one that may find you while gardening
or eating or fucking.

it could be the creeping moss on the side of
and abandoned building
or the glint of a cymbal over the
shaded drum

a gnats wings caught on the softly vibrating
strings of a piano

the presence of a dearly loved body
that is slowly creating a slight depression in your bed,
or the equally beautiful absence

the notebook writings of a student clearly
trying too
hard.

find it.

snatch it.

make it into ink soaking a page or
pixels on a screen or
whatever people do--

but most of all, look for it.
open your eyes so wide your lashes brush the ceiling and floor.
throw yourself into the thick of experience,
love what scares you

but just look for it.
no matter how tiny,
it will find you--

even if your soul catches it before your head.