Fiction is a bungalow --
with a high wit wind whistling through.
There is something in the attic
and someone about to ring the bell.
But a poem
it is a cathedral.
and all the little angels
Between boughs, between even
the teeth of pine cones, or seaming
the backs of new blades, poems
are in the name Forget-Me-Not, in the Sioux
meaning "singing river" or the French
for "silent mountain." They are the knowledge
of a bird, its name, and journey,
While Fiction verbs from noun to noun
conflict crashing into crisis
determined to make good time, Poetry's
got its thumb out, its eyes upon the sky.