Poetry is what you find in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God in the details, the only way
to get from here to there. Poetry (and now my voice is rising)
is not all love, love, love, and I’m sorry the dog died.
Poetry (here I hear myself loudest) is the human voice,
and are we not of interest to each other?
Elizabeth Alexander, “Ars Poetica #100: I Believe”