Neglectful me

I have been using Twitter far too much, and not sharing any of what I read.  I did come across this one this past weekend:

The Poem

It discovers by night
what the day hid from it.
Sometimes it turns itself
into an animal.
In summer it takes long walks
by itself where meadows
fold back from ditches.
Once it stood still
in a quiet row of machines.
Who knows
what it is thinking?

Excerpt From: Donald Hall. “The Selected Poems of Donald Hall.” iBooks. https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-selected-poems-of-donald-hall/id949386905?mt=11

The word for today is amorphous, which is one way to describe things, and which is one way this poem made me feel about poetry.