Where I find happier unhurried versions of me,

artists turn into authors,

teachers turn into permanent poets,

poets turn into famous figures

to turn careful attentions to,

and into mentors

on littlest clips that play

on a repetition of introduction,

like and if you love writing poems

or would like to learn how, follow me

that I hear

each same time

each day.

And I can muddle through what others might not attempt,

poetry commands a direction,

someone made a clearing in our brambles through.

And their book believes in me so much,

its prompts coax and tease

little intricacies,

the deep‑down quiet dormant details

that rise,

that free,

that turn themselves toward tools,

becoming a wielding of details

I didn’t know I’d concealed.