on bar napkins, in library books, on the walls of public places

i met a good slam poet once
who commanded the room
who told us with his hands
and rising emphasis and pauses
how much he wanted us
to understand how important
it was to understand how
to understand and we did
and we were all greatly
impressed and entertained
but my way has always been
a quiet way i want my words
to be something i can slip
beneath your door or hide
between the pages of your book
my way doesn’t need me
it is its own gestures
its own voice my words
could live without me
full-throated for as long
as there is you– i fall away
i get to fall away
and be shy
and live forever.