I used to collect poems, like some people collect postcards or glass paperweights.
I’d keep a notebook, and if I read or heard or found a poem I loved then I’d scribble it down, as though by writing the words out myself I could somehow own them.
Sometimes it wouldn’t be a whole poem, it would just be a phrase.
“a gossiping stream full of blethering pebbles”
“a shotgun sprinkle of freckles”
“I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.”
Good poetry – even a line or two – takes your breath away a little bit. Good poets make you feel like they have peeked inside your memory and plucked out an experience that you have lived, but then gone on to express your feeling or describe your scene better than you ever could yourself.