So these daily attempts
at poems are really
essays?

Or, wait—”essay” as verb,
to attempt, to put
to the test.

To examine. Sure,
doesn’t every poem
do a bit of belly button

gazing? A weighing
of considerations?
But that means

more time meandering
through my mind,
when what would

serve me better
is to step into the new
red shoes and head

out for a test walk—
even into a day
that may ultimately

end up hotter
than many of us
might like,

to essay what might
be seen in the greater
world, amid trees

awash in every
shade of green,
to soak up a bit

of the warmth
we pined for
all winter long.