At the start of a new poem

 the world is born again

as if I have never written a word about it

    and was experiencing it for the first time

these trees are not trees

   this sky is no sky

I still don’t have a name;

    I see a spark

and try to name it,

    then it’s gone

and all I have left

   is a bunch of useless words.

 

 

 

Useless Poetry