“The poems we love—what are they…?”

The poems we love—what are they
Made of? 
                    Nothing. 

Yet when we recite them,
Our voice climbs the lines
As if they were stairs 
Made of air
In a house made of breath.

Structure invisible as death:
A house made of breath,
Stairs 
That are nothing but air—

Yet each so solid, we can pause
When we want to, and stand there.

“The poems we love—what are they…?” by Gregory Orr. Copyright © 2020 by Gregory Orr. Used with permission of the author.

Reflections