The headline said:

           “A notable poet died”,

and I thought about the un-notable ones still alive

with words scribbled on the back of serviettes

and old train tickets

and breathed softly in secret from un-sure

un-remarkable

lips

sublime as the syllable that brought the universe

to birth

and I thought of the words that will never be heard

and the poets who think they’re just plumbers of sound

and I thought of the un-noticed ones

who know the secret name of God

that will unravel creation

but who remain mute

and I thought about how notable poets never die

and wept for the ones

that remain un-known

even to themselves

un-born

the stillborn magic of the un-written words