Note: I don’t consider myself a poet, but occasionally I write something that I rather like. So, to start things off, I thought I’d share one I wrote recently. It doesn’t have a title.

You close your eyes
And bury your face
You shut the windows to the soul
To keep too much from getting in, and too much getting out
You place your face in the soft,
            the human,
                     the humus
You cover it to hide it,
                               to let it open
To find the moment when it all feels real, two opposites
                 so close, mixed and free
That the burst is a bloom that arises from the burial.