to the working poets
we find them as we turn out empty pockets;
poems shatter on a floor of glass.
they’re all we have left at the end of the day,
a little dusty, but they shine if you peer deeply.
everything mundane truly does.
3 thoughts on "to the working poets"
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Just lovely! Thanks.
Yes! Great!
But we love it, and it loves us. That’s why we give what little we have left to the poem.