I Wish I Could Press Snowflakes In

Looking At The Sky Last Night And The Moon In The First Fresh Dark, Just A Few Stars, Bright With Their Cold Flares, I Had A Little Crumpled Thought, 'oh Well, The Moon. It's Just Another Place Like California.' One's Imagination Drags Its Feet As We Are Inexorably Hauled Into The Future.

One Tends To Write Beyond What's Needed

It Is Always Pleasant To Learn That Someone Takes An Interest In A Work Which One Enjoyed Writing

A Nothing Day Full Of Wild Beauty .... Little Fish Stream By, A River In Water.

It Seems To Me That Readers Sometimes Make The Genesis Of A Poem More Mysterious Than It Is (by That I Perhaps Mean, Think Of It As Something Outside Their Own Experience)