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Now this, this... is the reflection.  What follows is the poem.  I wrote the poem first.  The reflection came after. Of course it partly came before when I thought of writing the poem.  I feel a mite like Archy the cockroach hitting the keys of his typewriter.  But the aim here is not to get lost in metaphor.  It is to reflect on what I have written so anyone who reads this might perhaps understand.  Poetry and/or reflection are important.  Yes.  They do not take the place of the living around the writing.  I*m sure there will be more later.  

Labels are important,

Doncha know.

This

This

Is a poem.

The critic voice

In my head

Says:

Not a particularly good one

Really not worth

A comment.

I say:

Oh, what do you know?

Out, out, dark spot.

Begone.

Still

In the morning light

This morning*s light

(Specifics Are Important)

I realize the volumes of reflections

I have saved

In zippered cases

Of plastic covered pages              

Aren*t reflections at all.

They are poems.

Life is done

In reflection

On the poetry.

Or perhaps

The other way ‘round.

This

This

Is a poem.

Good or bad or in-between.

All that comes before or after

Is reflection.