i have no idea

so i'm writing this series of poems right now, that will likely never get published in my lifetime, which is a curious thing to say, to know. but it is something i must do. today, every step i took was a word, a poem, a line. it was the most vivid experience of poetry i can say that i've yet had.

often i hear my poems (often, always, actually). but today, i lived my poem. it's a curious thing to convey. hard to fit into words. i know the lines came to my ear but i was walking through that poem with each step. and as i stood in the appalachian mountains overlooking the delaware, i thought, one never knows when a poem will come, like this vista. one step lets you see far beyond what you could see hemmed in the treeline. one step was all it took. what will the next step be like?

it's a curious thing.

then, when i'm driving home, marion woodman (love her!) was speaking about feminine consciousness and said,

if you surrender you may find you are a poet and you have to take responsibility for that.

i hope i've taken responsibility for that.

i don't know that being a poet MEANS i have to publish. or that not publishing MEANS i'm not a poet. i don't think those two things are invariable correlates. i think those two things are like any other two things that some times come in tandem, sometimes not.

what i do know is, i write poems and some dear souls read them. it does not concern me how many souls read them, because

it is a dangerous thing to put soul in the marketplace,

marion woodman warns.

timing is everything. i must not rush. i must not be hasty.
and with my poetry, as with nothing else in my life, i can wait.
i can let it continue to richen and deepen and grow.
in fact, i want it to.

i may be faulted for never going back and rearranging a thing.
but i cannot be faulted for not growing.

my new works are so vastly different from anything i've done before.
at least they feel different to me in length and content. (though i was headed here all the while, i know that in my bones).

i just don't know that anyone really understands the story i'm telling or if it can be understood along the way.

perhaps in hindsight, when the last jot and tiddle are struck on the last cyber sheet, i will know what i have created. then someone can say,

this is what she's done.

though, i don't care to converse with that person about it.

i will likely be on some mountaintop somewhere living another poem.
so close the two are melded.

my life, my poetry
my poetry, my life

publishing is an entirely other subject.
one of admittedly little interest to me.