I’m a lousy poet.
I don’t leak emotion.
I don’t fall into easy fits of anything.
Sometimes I sneer at those who do.
It’s mostly because I’m jealous.
Jealousy is my tiger pit.
There are spikes in it.
I wiggle them loose.
Maybe I can build a ladder.
Maybe I can dig a ramp and walk out.
I think up a lot of strategies for escape.
I think all the time.
All I do with all this spare time is think.
Nothing I’ve done so far has worked.
I am a bad engineer.
It is alleged that being trapped is frustrating.
I do not know if that is what I’m feeling.
I do know that there are times I want to cry.
I want to cry because I’m trapped.
It is forbidden to cry over being trapped.
I don’t know who forbade that.
I know I can hear his voice down here.
I try to get that down in words now and then.
Sometimes it is useful.
Then I recall that I am in a tiger pit.
I recall that my words are unheard.
I go back to thinking:
Bad engineer!
Lousy poet!

No boatman
No bridge
No hopping

Leap

Air and water below you
Cold fast spray reminding you
that there is something at stake

Hesitation
won’t work here
(You might even want to close your eyes)

No hopping on one foot
No testing for footing
No poking to see what shakes under your weight
No stopping
No time to think — thinking
is the death of leap

Leap
The worst that can happen
is that you’ll drown

but
oh in that moment
before you strike

you’ll know