I like poems that sing
and hum, they’re easy on
the brain. Nothing
obscure, but plenty to ponder.
And nothing long. Unless
it really gallops. I want
to see what’s going on.
and what’s underneath.
Love is good in poems. And
life and death. Birth is rare
unless it’s spring, let’s have
more. Earth and fire. Breath.
But nevermind. Poems do not obey commands.
They come half-made and not to order.