I try to hurry the stubborn skin off
because there’s a poem I want
to write before I forget—
Every day, every minute,
there is so much to notice and
a poem is a tool, like a spoon,
made to scoop up a moment,
to slow and savor
to step outside
the rush of this world.
And I would, I would savor
if this stubborn peel
was off. Instead, it clings
and slows me down.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 