There is no perfect plate, no ideal flower, no flawless photograph. No words to capture the green of the maple leaves or the delicacy of the elderberry on my plate nor even the smell of wet grass on a June evening.
The perfect poem is light as dust on a bat's wing, lonely as a single flea.
Like people and crows, the
perfect poem can remember faces and hold
grudges. It keeps its promises. The perfect
poem is not gold or lead or a garden gate
locked shut or a sail slapping in a storm.
The perfect poem is its own favorite toy.
It is not a state of mind or a kind of doubt
or a good or bad habit or a flower of any
color. It will not be available to answer
questions. The perfect poem is light as dust
on a bat's wing, lonely as a single flea.
~ Kaveh Akbar, from "The Perfect Poem" (Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 3, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets)
The perfect poem is light as dust on a bat's wing, lonely as a single flea. Like people and crows, the
perfect poem can remember faces and hold
grudges. It keeps its promises. The perfect
poem is not gold or lead or a garden gate
locked shut or a sail slapping in a storm.
The perfect poem is its own favorite toy.
It is not a state of mind or a kind of doubt
or a good or bad habit or a flower of any
color. It will not be available to answer
questions. The perfect poem is light as dust
on a bat's wing, lonely as a single flea.
~ Kaveh Akbar, from "The Perfect Poem" (Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 3, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets)
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