I don’t write a poem
A poem writes me
It looks into my soul
It searches my heart
It plays with my body
Makes love to my mind
And startles me with
Unknown facts
And it writes down
All that is there in
My austere caves and
About all those fears and
Joys I hardly know
But my poem knows me
Well enough to draw me
To its joys
I don’t bind a poem
A poem binds me
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