Susan Hawthorne #99 hiding

some days the poems hide
I go looking for them
is there one under the stairs
perhaps there's a poem
in the screech of a tram
more likely if a bird flies my way

such a birdwing three weeks ago
brushed my face
as I sat at my desk

some days poems are found
in faces and voices
how does an ultra sound stack up?
when I cough black and white
turn to bright colours

today the poems win
they have hidden themselves
far too successfully
never mind
there's always tomorrow