An attempt at poetry

A  poem is a puzzle reconstructed by every reader.

A diamond turned ever way and inside out.

A forest and a leaf. A petal and a garden.

 

It moves like a cat through a dark alley downtown

 and sits, calm in the sunny window.

 

A poem must mean and be motionless and rise like the moon,

Or so Archie claimed. Or maybe not.

A poem remembers and questions and prophesies

And disagrees, even with Archie.

 

A poem flies and dives and lands and flies again. 

A poem continues. 

 

Note: This poem is an inside joke, or has one. I am not a serious poet, but sometimes it just appears.