Am I a Poet?

Am I a poet
because I thought of the metaphor
of two leaves from different trees converging in one pile?

Am I a poet when I compare the roots of trees to patriarchs?

Do I make poetry by breathing the fresh air of forests?
Touching moss on trees?
Praying in an adobe church?
Plucking a pear from its branch?

Do I sustain poetry
generating an aura of love with my wife
in a black lit bar
where a harpsichord building artisan
speaks love for music, love for woman, love for yearning

Am I a poet because I declare Thankfulness a poem
even before there are words