I’m Not a PoetI cannot weep
my eyes are dry
and my heart is one
heavy stone.
Life has ground me ─
arid, broken ─
I’m a cart of gravel.
I’m not a poet
hate warblers and crickets
zephyrs kissing grass
leaves wafting to earth ─
no, I love squalls
winds routing clouds
to flush sky and air.
I’m not a poet
no fresh-water fish ─
I’m gamey (not bland)
and schooled in deep seas.