Unruly

think of me as a piece of paper
that you've put thoughtlessly in your coat pocket
after you wrote something on it. I leave open 

what, although I hope: let it be one line, one
for in a verse saved for later and that stays on 
your mind, long after you put me away.

you know the line gradually by heart. It loops
in your head like a mantra. Still you never find
the right context for it: a good poem that places
the line, frames it, and above all tames it.

then after a while you take me out of your pocket,
caress me and sigh: what to do with you?