a poem about beginning the process of writing a long poem
forage
for wise surprise
sometimes trick yourself into a poem
mustn't think you're building a monument
you're stacking up a pile of bricks
you're cutting stone
you're gathering sticks
it's much more forage than farming
you go out to see what's about
you bring in the items of interest, needful
arrange them
and you arrange them again
make regular inspections
tuck in, let out
rest the eyes
it becomes a kind of conversation
it's all of you there
when at your best
you leave what you've made out in the weather
you see how well it will last
taste the sweet flesh
chuck the shells
stick at this a lifetime
make a midden of your own
and mean it
then, only then
in its afterlife
the poem finds you
you're lapping at a tide of milk
a headsup for the grapes
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