what i used to know about writing poetry
contained its innumerable forms and conventions,
rhyme and meter, simile and metaphor,
clever literary allusion, onomatopoeia,
hyperbole, elegiac grace, double entendre,
the myriad maps for words to trace

now i know these things only by feel
an insistent vision reflected in the sky
that lies scattered puddled in the parking lot,
this is my truest self clamoring an appeal
to be heard, teaching me what is real,
to trust in that which is beyond threat
it is the only reason for what will write
itself upon this sprawl of open space

now i feel these things only by not knowing,
by gratefully accepting the unfolding of our lives.
i tune to our channel in the perfect moment
to tell you that love is eternally flowing
between us pulling, twisting and yearning
like magnetic lines between our interstellar dust
it is irresistible this delicious peaceful rest
in the vast expanse where we are magically growing

that is all i know about writing poetry now
it is enough to receive to allow an energy
that burns its way through us somehow
until we recognize in one another the source
this fullness of being running its course
through all atoms of us everywhere all at once

©John Greenleaf-Maple 5/27/17