Nostalgia

You say my poems play hide & seek
but my honey child,
I want you under my syllables
behind the word-furnace
& deep in that darkly hyphenated crawlspace.
Creation is the game
writing first to stash and reveal
papery inklinations.
most words don't make it home
the only remaining echoes form in left-over alcoves,
the hinging places
carved out by chased-away words.

You say my poems play hide & seek
but really
the game is done,
played out before the rhythm grew up
and made out with deeper sounds.
All that's left
is to climb inside
& imagine
what words hid there before.