A Definition of Poetry

Like anyone who loves the precise music of her own body, Who knows how to force it through the gaps in fear As through the needle s eye, Who dances a lifetime with the body—every move Of shoulders, back, and thighs Shimmering with mystery, like a Sanskrit word. Muscles playing under the skin Like fish in a nocturnal pool. Thank you, Lord, for giving us bodies. When I die, tell the roofers To take down the rafters and ceiling (They say my great-grandfather, a sorcerer, finally got out this way). When my body softens with moisture, The bloated soul, dark and bulging, Will strain Like a blue vein in a boiled egg white, And the body will ripple with spasms, Like the blanket a sick man wrestles off Because it's hot... And the soul will rise to break through The press of flesh, curse of gravity. The Cosmos Above the black well of the room Will suck on its galactic tube, Heaven breaking in a blistering starfall, And draw the soul up, trembling like a sheet of paper— My young soul—