Poetry Today Is Easier To Write But

In Every House Of Marriage There's Room For An Interpreter.

I Dropped My Hoe And Ran Into The House And Started To Write This Poem, 'end Of Summer.’ It Began As A Celebration Of Wild Geese. Eventually The Geese Flew Out Of The Poem, But I Like To Think They Left Behind The Sound Of Their Beating Wings.

Poetry Is The Enemy Of The Poem.

How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled / To Its Feast Of Losses?

Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A Child, And It Was Full Of Flying Dreams.