How do I introduce my poet?
He keeps his own hours.
He keeps to himself
but loves parties.
He hears people,
overhears people.
Stares and falls in love,
all the while discussing politics.
Watches a smile on someone’s face,
a fluid, flowery river,
but my poet stays alone,
evolving lifetimes in a moment,
wondering which lifetime
they would choose,
to keep that smile.
Strange things happen
in a poet’s mind.
I never leave,
but my poet flies away
and returns.
So he wanders
from love, to hope,
to mystery,
stacking and balancing
what he sees, to what he feels.
I go along to where he is,
sometimes a poem
wanting to be heard,
and what my poet hears.