To coax a poem.

You have to be careful
when a poem twitches its ears.

To coax a poem
you sit very still.

Create a commodious space
in which it will perfectly fit.

It may show its incomparable belly.

This is a trap.

It curls. Slow-blinks.

This is a dare.

Will you pin your dreams, your voice
on the hope for retracted claws.

Wait.

You have other things to do.
Like not think about waiting
for the poem to come to you.

It may sit on your keyboard, your notebook. It sniffs.

You repress the desire to hold.
You watch its tale and wait.

There is no resolution. Only a fleeting sense of something perfect.
Of holding something perfect
till it looks you dead in the eye
and yawns.