“Ode to the Poem That Built Itself”
It begins with a small stir—
a notion barely awake,
lifting its head as if the air
had asked it to begin.
One notion nudges another,
and soon they travel in pairs,
trading weight, trading colour,
finding new shapes in the drift.
Lines gather like quiet workers
around a long bench,
each adding a sliver of craft
to whatever the last one left behind.
And from that steady labour
a shape begins to rise—
not sudden, not declared,
just the slow gathering of parts
that recognise each other.
It rises as if urged from within—
each part finding its place
with a quiet certainty,
gaining shape the way a spark
catches and grows
until the whole form stands,
advancing with each opposing step.
.