enso

wu wei is no way.
wu wei is the only way.
do way.

is it a poem

if i say it is
if i use my mouth
to form the quiet words
in the silent space
of chirping crickets
and faded tv
from too far away
and music
from somewhere else
with the drum beat of churning laundry
in the washing machine
and the hum of spastic keys
struck with deliberate chi
moving
across the wide and open
space
of soon to be forgotten
is it a poem
if i say it is?
these utterances of moment
trapped in strange american words
spoken in the head of the poet
as she types the black letters
of an unutterable alphabet
is it a poem
if i say it is?
is it my poem?