What is being said?
Is there more that wants to be said?
Does it follow its own deepest impulses, not necessarily the initial idea?
Does it know more than you did when you started it?
Are there things in it that don’t belong?
Are there things in it that are confusing?
Is it particular?
Could any of its words be more interesting? more surprising? more alive?
Does it allow strangeness?
Does each of its moments actively move the poem toward its full realization?
I find church in poetry. In the squeeze of my grandson's small hand. In my children sharing a joke. In the secret language of partners. And in the steady guidance of my parents. Yesterday morning I found church in church in the music ministry of Kristen Graves who shared music and stories of the work being done by Simply Smiles.
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