intending a life with poetry

first off, nothing high-minded about this quest.
rather ordinary, truth be told aloud.   there.

or rather, there, it was there.   was being operative.
self-criticism never gets old even when first-borne.

my grandmother always raised her arm, farewell
when I walked down the block, away from her.

like this.     you see?

I wanna mean that personally.   like you know
from me to you.   and if you’re wondering, yes
     I mean you.   you, reading this.

it is humbling to think the difference I’ll make
a day from now, a month, fifty years, fossilized.

then again,     intention is.

happening only means this one moment here,
standing alone, with you.

there, that tail you see.     that’s why.

intention matters to me.   why I write.
     and the joy that takes a breath
     when you read.


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