Reading

I've heard that the only people who read poetry are those who write it.
I thought, untrue! untrue!
I remember many years of sitting with a finger tracing along lines
taping poems to my bedroom wall
long before I looked lustily at a pen.
Two days ago, burrowing through my pages and notebooks
I came across many lines
written in my own hand—writing that looked familiar but felt far,
from another:
all of us, we are poets, in our minds, our hearts, our thoughts.
If living and seeing every day is no poem, what is?
What is?
I suppose reading a poem is writing a poem.
Poetry is moments, life is...moments.