What is a Poem?

These poems are little playthings;
I make them out of twine
That I use to tangle together
Feathers with pinnate leaves.
I make masts out of branches
And send toy sailboats floating
Down a gentle waterfall
That starts in my throat
And lands in your ear.

They’re little songs;
That I typically don’t write.
No, I decipher them between
The veins of sodden autumn leaves
That I turn over and over
Like the pages of a book,
Reading to you these poems
That start in my throat
And land in your ear.