What Poetry Does
Poetry makes the unimagined seem inevitable.
It takes you deeper in
Deeper than sight, sound or smell ever could.
You remember the smell of burning cigarettes
In the lobby of the café
In those days people still smoked inside
And how the tobacco smoke blended
With the musty scent of the snow-wet wool coats
Hanging in the closets there
You were young then
Or were you not yet born
Is this a memory
Or some imagining of one other
Thing that never happened.
But there in some crevice of the verse
There in how those words go together
Is some magic key that opens the gate
And lets you know, once again
That there is more to this life.
And so memory
Or was it not a memory
Is covered with a blanket of desire
And all aches and glows.