Why write poems?
I chase myself with words.
But maybe I am already ahead.
A stone can’t write a poem about me.
Or try to define what I am busying myself with.
Laying one cobble after the other or taking off into the woods.
It does not really matter that I’ll never finish the job as
poetry allows meaning that is diffuse, not settled.
Just like we are not settled, change always.
You can not take the same step twice.
So I try to weave the patterns
I am quick to glimpse.
It is not possible