Following the Sail of Words, poem by Jeff Schiff

nor obsess over exactitude
Do not go after it

Directly
Go after it as you would a pomegranate

a bloody hive
A poem is not art

but you bang at it
with a small hammer and baste it

with pungent oil
Is not art but unfurls

inside and out (hunky-dory)
or coalesces

and as such is a mending:
bone and socket: skin you wear through the night

It is night (making as it does)
its filtered sense