This is the issue, right? How do we honor the thing, right? And what is the thing? The poem? the poet? The arrow that springs from the bow of the world or the target we fix with it? Isn’t it pretty to think that? Yes, it is. Poetry helps us freeze the arrow of time…
Sometimes the future “irises” down into a pinprick of almost nothing like when you are injured and in pain. Consideration of the future is blocked by the “oh so present” pain. We are left to reflect on that moment as we try to push out the doomscrolling just enough to know there is at least…
Thinking about this–“What were we doing a week ago? How has the future aligned? And a month ago? And a year ago? Here are some routine, back stoop pix. Our garden is a short threshold from the back door. Time to work and weed and care. Call me Candide. [gallery columns="2" size="medium" ids="40321,40324,40322,40320"] And…