“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.