If there were not so much poetry
In people, just the way they are,
In melodies, creeping along in the dark,
In moon rises. Or there. That small star.
If there were not so much poetry,
Here, in these tangled, weedy flowers off the trail,
In the smell of sea crashing into sea,
In silences. In wondering why our romances fail.
If there were not so much poetry in things not poetry,
I might just be the poet king
Simply by writing this.
Poetry could actually be this thing.