Poems of Before and After

Some poems come hard, Some are easy. Some end up jejune Like chipped dishes; Some poems drop from the sky, Some are the sediment of dreams, Some are dreams altogether. Others come from others. Some poems grow into labyrinthine oaks Wrung out of the cold dark earth Inevitably, slow. Some nip in a false June. Batty ones never alight. Others are caught alive, are Netted winged windows of heaven. Some poems are slippery as eels. Some just whistle into tune Like a mid-summer kettle.