the poem within
a phrase shows up
maybe a title
it won’t leave
begs to root
burrows
then gestates
often for weeks
then comes the dive—
not just down, but
deep
into the carnal
compels,
requires embodiment
I sort through hunches
feel through
to the quiet
for precision
words
by their rhythm
taste
texture
scent
weight
a wicked labor,
between pushes
I let the thing rest
then work with it
breathe with it
rest again
until the shape
reveals
finally, what it is
Yes, that's what it's like 👍 👌
My new favorite Amrita poem! Lovelovelove this... "a wicked labor," indeed, the poems, leading to "finally, what it is." So nicely done!