Like A Lot Of People, For A

Each Sudden Gust Of Light Explains Itself As Flames, But Neither They, Nor Even Bombs Redoubled On The Hills Tonight Can Quite Include Me In Their Fear.

I Shall Try To Write A Poem That Is About The Moment But Doesn't Betray Things That Are True To Me As A Poet.

But I Can't And Don't Ever Want To Write Bell-yanking Confetti-tossing Hat-throwing Poems.

But Wordsworth Is The Poet I Admire Above All Others.

Honor The Miraculousness Of The Ordinary.