Merwin said it
better than I ever could
how in our hurry
we miss out
on almost everything
that's the best argument for poetry
that I can think of
nothing else
not even love
has slowed the pace
with which I've wolfed it down
this sensuous feast
spread out before my eyes
and I a ravening beast
greedy for knowledge
for experience
fearful of losing out
if I hold back
but now I'm starting
once again to learn
what I knew as a child
when I'd spend hours
waiting to feel a tugging on the dropline
I'd let sink to the bottom
out of sight
it's not the poem
pulled up from the deep
and flopping on the dock
its colors quickly fading
it's the inner ocean pulsating
with hidden life
its currents vibrating
between my fingers