I look back 
Over my poems

and think

If I changed this
wouldn’t thata sound better
If I moved that
wouldn’t ita looked better

Sometimes I’m guilty
Of getting caught in the rush

Instead of scouring 
Through tiny details
I could obsess over
And I do 

But when those words flow
Smoothing rough stone
Delivering life
To mental drought

What a rush
To write in the moment