where is a poem?

I always thought a poem was in

the thick gold of afternoon sun

and how it fell briefly upon the world 

like a passing lover

I thought you could find a poem 

if you travelled outwards

or looked at the world

in the right

light

But recently I am coming 

to the conclusion that a poem

is a sturdy thing

it can survive all kinds of light

I think it lives 

in the fleshy heart of my mouth