It Is The Poem Which Does It, Not You, Uncle.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

uncle sammy
do not tell what
a poem must do
for it is the poem
that tells you
what to do with yourself
you, whose depression
had taken the roots of
the tree
deep down the earth
of too much sorrow.

a poem is a bird, and also
an arrow,
not much of a kite that
you can hold with a string
on your hand
that dances when you pull
and release it
one way or the other

a poem is air, it is too
water
it is too, if you are
sensitive enough,
in fact, just nothing
but a flitting feeling
more likely
a dart could be,
or a bob dance,
skipping rope that
trips and flutter,
or bounce,

ah, more likely
dragonflies

those that flitted
across the pond
behind the house of
grandpa.