The Meaning of Poetry

The answer is beating a rhythm
inside your chest,
unless, of course, you’re obsessed
with the here and now.

Cat in the corner is hungry.
so says, “Meow.”
Dog that wants to come in
repeats, “Bow wow.”

The door itself doesn’t speak.
Still hinges squeak.
Most hinges, like knees, need oil:
sound all around.

Voices and voices and voices:
though few are heard.
If anything, too many voices
and most too loud.

So fill yourself up with quiet,
be quiet, listen,
at first, perhaps, to your heart;
later on, come lessons.