Not Fit For Purpose

by Margaret Colangelo
Not Fit for Purpose

A poet writes her name 
on the back of a breeze,

sliding through doorways, 
to the clergy of trees.

In the silhouette, 
the space unseen 

while politicians argue 
with maps and degrees.

And slowly without much sustenance,
moisture, nutrients, 

a poem blooms 
on the margins.

No tariffs, bribes or fees- 
it just is, as it decides. 

Gathered into the thoughts, 
the collective unconscious-

the wind herds the clouds 
until a hurricane stirs.