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Some common words inserted in poetry:

hand, which may mean help, which may mean god, which may mean

love. There is ocean, which may be your mother, quietly

cooking an evening meal. It may mean your

sadness, that opens and gives itself to the world. There is

also happiness, always elusive, always the last thing to be found.

Keys can also be easily spotted in poems but never

in your own house. They give way

to doors, which may be sturdy or weak or needs

a magic word before they can be opened.

they are never just doors. There are a lot more, I am sure --

word after word lolling around in your

expectant tongue, waiting for the opportune

moment to pounce at some hapless reader.

They are breaking and entering, doing

everything they can to make your poems

assume the monotony of brittle leaves

put under microscopes. I want to know if you

see me in this poem, standing in one

uncertain corner. You see the red lamp I am

holding? It's new, but they

say it breaks easily. I'd like to ask you,

though, to leave some lines for me because it gets cold at

night around these parts. I hope you've noticed that I have

changed my lipstick brand between the

first two words. If you get a glimpse of the word love,

precariously perching on the edges

of these last lines, that just means

that I am getting ready to come home.