The motive of my versecraft is to win
The game the form presents, progressing through
Each turn as blithely as a skier in
A slalom course would nonchalantly do.
The skill of such an art is to hide art
And, as the dancers say, “Don’t let them see
You sweat.” Don’t put the horse behind the cart;
Let wildness find originality.
You never know where you’ll come out, or should,
For what’s the fun in following a route
To some predestined point, and what’s the good
Of knowing, when the goal is the pursuit?
A game like this provokes discovery,
Yet how it does remains a mystery.