(for e e cummings)

Watch the poet conjure a word,
Pull heavy everything from nothing.
Only the right thing, the ever only
Thing that will fill the empty space.

Maybe the word existed before now
Probably, though, it does not
Or did not, and now it does
All at once, like it always had,


I have always admired how Cummings could invent a word that fit perfectly into the space he created for it. You know what the word was there to say even while you could not fully explain its meaning nor how you knew. The word you don’t know in this poem is his word.