My favorite poet is the tide

My favorite poet is the tide.

She takes and she breaks

and she delivers.

She gets pretty and goes out,

all her lovers in tow.

Her mouth, an impossible verb

folding and unfolding

she somersaults when she comes

and she leaves notes in the morning.

I studied her work for years.

Her crashes, her form.

Picked up her rhymes

and her lists and her bad haiku.

Put them in a bucket

put them in my pocket

and put them on my tongue

and put them on the porch.

We've all hurt things

for the poems inside them.

When my starfish died, I mean

her starfish

died, their wishes turned to rot,

their eloquence vanished,

looking for someone else.

Some stories don't belong to me

#nationalpoetrymonth, day 2