I have learned to love words as the mirrors they are;
Write anything, from your soul,
and hold it up, put it out there, turn it loose--
What another sees will
When I read, I have learned to ask,
“Who am I here?”
For if I search for a conflict,
Surely I will find it.
If I search for understanding,
That, too, will shine out.
Maybe that is the magic of poetry in the end-
it intimately invites another
to show us