On Poetry

Poetry has its way
of pretending it’s from the mind
when really, it’s from truth.
It arrives when it desires,
transmitting no more and no less, only exactly what it needs,
to me, most importantly.
When I listen as I write,
it speaks to me so clearly
and it reveals frequently and always,
unbearably fast and raw.
And so poetry’s akin to prayers
in inverse directionality
but acutely similar intimacy.
Hence, it’s just as much a gift
and just as much a promise
that surrender will heal at last.
And so all the artist ever does is serve
as the two-way, dynamic membrane
between experiences and understanding.