the poem within

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