you’re still writing poetry. Cape Gazette
says you’ve a book looking for an agent,
novel, too. I’ve always admired your set
way, ever creating, your poet’s scent
tracking images and rhythms hiding
deep in earth, wisping past in wind ever
caressing, ever leaving us, gliding
off praising memory and sense, clever
enough to return when we least expect
it. Virtual Earth looks down on Milford,
Williamsville Road. Farm acreage, I suspect,
backed by forest, parkland maybe, and, lord,
a lake shaped like a pancreas. Motion
of tide, I’ll bet, reminds you of ocean.
Roger Armbrust
April 22, 2008
