THE ESSENTIAL RICHARD WILBUR
Who else but you could make
a poem pirouette in place
to its own music?
Such art
can never simply happen
without the sense of something
else invoked—some mystery,
some secret.
Call it a miracle
that guides the hand and heart
when pen and paper meet.
Call it what mutes analysis
or calculation.
It answers
to nothing but itself.
To be
accepted and known, it needs
no more than to be felt
as love is felt and unforgotten.