Sunday, February 12, 2017
Generations of ghosts, there in the synapses of our neurons.
I'm moving toward that in my poetry, an exploration of these super-imposed moments. They may (I am discovering) (though I've no doubt known this all along) have occurred days or months or years apart, but they are one.
Winter is like this, as well. Each winter becomes all winters; each storm contains the one before, the one before, the one...
Think of your own moments, how they inform one another. A collage of moments.
the longer he lives
february's gray and gold]
the more he