Arrows (Poetry)

I shot a poem in the air
it fell to earth — I know not where
or if it found a warm dark place
to flourish, make its own small space

and live awhile in someone’s head
communicate, provoke, be read
alongside deathless words that show
each arrow has a human bow.

And whisper-thin each poem flies
arcs fearless through imagined skies
above the trees and over walls
no way to tell just where it falls.