If you were my poet
you would be my guide--
you would make something vast of the universe.
Out of the vastness,
you'd gift me my mind
transfigured to a Valentine.
You'd cut the sick corners
of the pink paper
and end with a heart.
If I were your poet
I would not write much
Not while the words are bitter
and the edges rough
Instead I'd keep your briefcase on my lap,
run your errands, be the knight
with the lady's favor
and cough out a few sputters here and there,
poems that are not poems--like this--
reminders of poetry
like walking rehab after broken bones-
"It used to be so easy--have you a task for me, my lady?"