True there is no “I” in poetry
But there is heart.
There are souls
From time immemorial
With secrets yet to share,
Seductions to be finished
And tears yet to shed.
All of our souls and dreams,
Our entire collective unconscious
Drawn like beads on a tight string
Along the necklace of words.
There is Handsome Johnny and Joe Hill
All those heroes who never died,
All those who never survived
All those we never knew
There are cars we never drove,
Flights we never took
Oceans we never swam in
All the faces we never met and
There is You, and all the girls
On the corner under the streetlight
Watching all the boys
And the parents stressed beyond measure,
There are roses and a
Kiss for when the thorns prick,
And there is then
And there is now
And what if,
What, why, when, where, who
And again, there is You
And there is us
And there is I,
So maybe there is an “I” in poetry after all.