Poem

No, no, I don’t believe in my poems,
Not really, but I defer to the poet in me
Who belies belief with a fact that
Requires no belief, to write a poem
In which fire is the poetic
Element, fire burning in a wood
At night, the leaves falling in flames
From trees, and he lets this poem mean
All that poetry infers but does not say
Because, to him, a poem doesn’t say
All that it means but keeps the silent
Stillness of a wood after the fire dies,
And smoke rising from the ash.