There’s a hole in this poem, a hole
where all the usual ways I know
to write a poem are stuffed to block
the cold wind of the unexpected,
a hole that allows the loud world
to decide which portion of itself
to poke through and require me
to describe it or address it, a hole
that, left open, keens and moans,
howls or bellows as what blows
through it sounds like a sorrow
that would be mine if I so chose.
But not tonight. Tonight I seal
and caulk the breach with what
my words can also do: protect me
until morning when I’m stronger.