Who wrote this?

Poetry need not be true
to what you think, or even what you feel.
Authentic in the attempt, perhaps,
but who knows what waits inside
those words that arrive at the depot –
those brown paper packages
hiding their priceless china,
their ground bark, their reptiles,
even their explosives.

It’s a customs nightmare.
There is not enough time to check everything,
for the packages backlog
and no longer stack up.
"Just let them through. Let them through."

But this time, the poet says, "No!
We must examine them all."

And examined they all are,
those contents of another person’s life,
a teapot just like yours
but with an extra two stripes,
a lamp stand with a slightly different twist,
a rug that might have been
sprawled across your floor,
only now, when you look at it closely,
it doesn’t look like yours at all!

And from around the corner,
here comes someone
who wants to reassemble their life,
who resembles you closely
enough to be your brother,
an out-of-towner
with a different point of view,
perfect for a conversation
since they have been
through your life, too.