I am coming to love poetry
Again. From the inside out
as I loved it before
iambic and analysis.
I am coming to love poetry
Again. Words nursing at my breast
born of time enough for
new love and solitude.
I am coming to love poetry
Again. Shouted. Whispered.
Sung. Sighed. Shoving Reason’s gates

wide open.
I am coming to love poetry
Again. Sliding, shimmering
into my body while the top two inches

shudder.
I am coming to love poetry
Again. My heart a shotgun house,
long hall and straight entry,
front to back.
I am coming to love poetry
Again. Dim light banished
by sunlight sifting through Aspen

in high hills.