It is not a story, yet it reveals everything -- even as it
hides shyly behind its many forms. It is not an essay,
yet it attempts to expose even the invisible, to describe
the ineffable, to metaphorically declaim its eternal truth.

What is a poem?

When I write it, it is a formulation of words, of marks,
of sounds, of symbolic representations of vastnesses that
demand quick and compressed tellings.

What is a poem?

Whe it writes me, it is an invasion from thence to hither,
a ruthless surge that culminates in hieroglyphic revelation
poured out in tones of exaltation or despair, in bemused,
even resentful wonderment that I am engaged in impossibility
taking form, that I am seized by and made capable of the
work itself.

What is a poem?

When I read it aloud, it is a sharp catch of breath that
murmurs "Yes" or even, sadly, "Ah, please, no..."

What is a poem?

It is a way of telling you my baby's skin, of talking to you
about unspeakable mysteries, of wrapping pieces of my soul
in silk and rubbing them across your forehead.

I don't know what a poem is.