Revisionist Poetry – Where the poem hides, v3. – a more sensory and meditative version

Where the poem hides

The binding cradles leaves of paper—
a small, patient architecture.
They wait for ink like ponds wait for rain.

Like a sculptor I work by touch:
press, subtract, fold—believing the medium
will keep the shape I make.

Study the lines — the grain, the seam, the thumbprint;
the surface has its private weather.

Only an impulse — sudden as wind —
lifts the poem from the page and lets it fall
out into the room.