All true poetry writes against poetry—
Passion speaks in a moment only.
Poetry only to a moment pertains.
All speech is a spasm—an electric impulse of our brains.
We need to forget everything we said:
Speech is beautiful—but like hair, it is dead.
A word near a word makes a meaning that is new.
That’s the glory of poetry—if that’s what you want to do.
But don’t trust words. Keep looking in her eyes.
From words all sorts of misunderstandings arise.
She could not decide between those two;
Forgive her, that she could not make up her mind.
Those indecisions and revisions
Were like poems. Inconsequential. But not unkind.
