You ask me how br I write a poem; br How I change br Leaves to snowflakes br And snowflakes to starlight. br How starlight could ever— br But in a poem— br Embody a life, br And constellations, br The world. br How dirt br Could be heavenly br And the sky, base. br You ask me how br I write not in English, br But in the language of br The heart. br br I answer this: br A leaf is a leaf, br A snowflake a snowflake. br Stars are scattered in the sky, br Celestial, br While dirt is trod beneath us, br Base. br I write no poem, br But the poem br Writes a world. br I do not speak br The language of the heart: br I write the words, br The poem writes the world, br The world sings to the heart br And that’s how br I write a poem.