What Is It Like to Be a Poem?

Curt, but it looms large
When seen through the lens,
The chatter hornworm,

Common name only,
Never learned Latin,
Never got labeled,

No type specimen.
Look it in the eyes.
They do the talking.

They say, we’re in here.
You can’t be certain,
But it’s true. We twist

To stare back at you.
Seed pearls of language.
We know you. We do.