When the Poem I Was Writing (2012)

When the Poem I Was Writing

 

When the poem I was writing caught fire,

I wondered which line to save.

I narrowed my smoke-stung eyes

And pored over the piece,

But even as I deliberated,

I was choked by the smell

Of burning alliteration.

No time to choose –

Soon, the whole page would come down.

I crawled across the bottom margin,

Which they say is the safest place to be

Within a burning poem,

And clutched wildly

For any clause

Not yet hot enough

To sear my tongue when uttered.