Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
The sanest thing in this world is love.
I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.