THE LINE This is not the poem, this line I'm feeding you. And the thought that this line is not the poem is not it either. Instead the thought of what this line is not is the weight that sinks it in. And though this image of that thought as a weight is quite a neat figure of speech, you know what it's not this time let the line smoothly arc to this spot, and now lets it reach down to one other, one further rhyme of which almost does measure up, the way it keeps the line stirring through the dampening air. Oh, you know you can hear the lure in that. As you know you've known from the start the self referring this line's doing was a hook bit of wit that made you look and see how clear it is no part of this line or its gear could be the poem. Still it cast and kept the line reeling out till now at last the hook's on to itself and about to tie this line I'm feeing you up with a knot. Referring to itself has got the line and us nowhere. So clever's not what the poem is about either. We're left hanging there while something like a snout starts nudging at  your ear, nibbling near my mouth it's the poem about to take the bait. From the inside ought to be a great way to learn what the poem is. And we'll use this line when the poem's drawn it taut and fine as breath to tell what we know, where we are and where we'll go breaks. How would it feel, knowing, at last, what the poem really is, to lack the line to speak?