Fanciful thoughts about this thing called "poesy"

A poet from a workshop forum I frequent asked visitors at his blog to answer the question "what is poetry?" Wow, what a dangerous question to pose to poets! You just know they'll give you a cryptic, metaphorical, flowery answer. And why not? Here's mine:

There's a stage that children go through, when they're just on the brink of language. They wander around all day, pointing at things in the world, just for the sheer joy that comes with recognition and discovery. They wonder at the "suchness" of things. Sometimes, along with pointing at something, they'll plunge right in and name it. The name they give things is less about convention and reference than it is about finding their own voice. I admire toddlers in this; they’ll stand up for the names they’ve chosen – scream, fight, cry if they have to. In the end, if they want to name all four-legged animals “bow-wow,” they do.

That's poetry, to me. Paying attention to the suchness of things, and struggling (daring!) to name it.