On Never Having Written a Poem

What we have sought, what we have strained after, lean dogs on leashes;
Sky folding in on sky folding in on sky, and nothing to hold;

Long backwards, tilting, tumbling, shifting of the past: lights falling, sparks
Winking out as they touch the smooth skin of the river.

Wet grass, deep earth, pooling water. Words mulling in wells of thought: but
You should be able to dig your fingers into poetry and feel its bones.