I don’t pretend
to understand your poetry.
I wouldn’t lay claim
to having unearthed
the intended meaning of your words.
Sometimes I wonder, do
you understand what it means?
Maybe you did, once;
or maybe you mean
something different now
than when you wrote them.

Yet, when I read your poems
I feel your words
flow through my mind,
swirl near my spirit.
So, I reach out
to touch their beauty,
enchanting as a flower petal,
stroking their softness
like a lover.

I am content
to read your poetry
with an open heart.
To be a blank page
upon which you write;
allowing your words
to weave me into a vessel
to hold your meaning.

For now, I welcome
being nudged a bit closer
to seeing
what I don’t understand.

~ cp @compostingwords, 2013