Thursday, April 30, 2026

POEMS ARE HOLES

Sotto voce missive 
from the little distant 
tackhammering woodpeckers: 

often, you must drill 
before the reason 
will appear; 

it takes practice, not precision 
to make swiss 
cheese out of the hidden—

hunger, not fulfillment 
to think of whispering 
for emphasis, 

to make the unlistenable 
something to hear.