Don't Want Much -

first appeared in Stoneboat, 2019

What do poets want? It’s supposed to be a secret because if you found out, you might stop listening. You might hear the spell unravel mid-syllable or see the scaffolding behind the stars. But that doesn’t change what drives us. Poets want everything. A single word that can hold a cathedral, a line that outlives its author, and a reader who forgets they’re reading. We want to grow our dreams in other folks’ imaginations.

Don’t want much—

just to write one little poem, sharp

as obsidian, to snake-charm time

and preacher-heal cynicism,

to build a ladder to the distant stars

and live two-thousand eighty-six years

in the hearts of Danish schoolchildren

deep in the belly of the immortal raven.