It’s a wonderful occupation, this search for the ordinary, knowing it can never be found.
Sixteen days have passed since I noticed a fallen birch leaf riding piggyback on a fig leaf still attached to the tree. The fig leaf is yellower now and with pronounced reddish veins. And the birch leaf, having lost most of its color and diminished in size, remains right where it was.
November 6, 2019
The trick, one poet said to another,
is to make your long lines seem short
and your short lines seem long —
then, let your words echo like freight cars.
That’s no trick, the other poet replied,
it’s just plain common sense.
The talk that followed
was drowned out
by the sound
of a passing train,
Poems, Slightly Used, September 8, 2008
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