Fetching

Not all my hunches
Are readable. Not every
Problem is solved by a poem.
Still, trying is no more path-
etic than a moth at a bulb,
No less natural.
Someday it will turn out to
Be the soft edge of the sun I touch
Instead of a glass wall.
Maybe I'll burn up or just
Turn around, bringing an-
other poem to the ground
Wondering where to plant.

JM