Kit Kelen #1008 - unbidden

1008
unbidden 





the poem grew strangely into itself
like a tree that stands where it will be
limb come back to the trunk

makes you look again to tell it’s true
that was the thing you saw today
made itself a poem

trapped here in my own rain
a bird still like bark in the branches
fallen, or arced in flight

in here
one thing’s another
nicely proportioned so

as if it always were, would be
but we had to think it up
once and never for all

ghost of the little man inside
I felt it for a certain light
it was the star I saw fall

nothing we already know here
come blank to be
the only way

the poem in itself
we make to understand
I myself will not know yet

tells who’s in the mirror though
when it’s right there’s
this little music we make

grew strangely
unseen till it was now in another not-forever
and just for as long as it lasts