The poem within the poem

in the inner sense of    see

is pulse in time        but not

in space a world         itself

without                    a word

for all that moves      within

the pure being of      a verb

as not what                      is

appears                       to be

the ant of                 Everest

a speck                 on its rock

as      up the hill           from

the   river                     I rest

an      over-the-hill        aorta

the ant in         its        poem

unaware of     me     as I am

of the poem           in the ant

making            me            slip

from there                  to here

easily                        as from

one     trombone             slide

into   other              and other

into      all that                     in

the   all of me                is grin