The Tide

There is an ebbing...
Pulling away from me.
People in an undertow...
Friends, relations, memory,
In the wash.
I can't save them...
From me.

What is a poem?

What is a poem?
Maybe it is a
Mood on a page.
Not definable...
Uncertain is its name.
When it comes,
The poem reveals itself
Only to those
Who chance to be
In its thrall.