I wrote a tiny poem.
I chiseled the delicate prepositions.
I used a razor blade to shave the adverbs.
I took out a soft cloth
And polished the edges.
It was complete—like a nut.
Then I put the poem in its place
and it was too small!
A large gap remained.
The poem fell in a heap
to the ground
broken letters all over the floor.
I swept them up carefully
and placed them in the poem drawer
where all the remnants of my poems lie,
jumbled and sad.