Some morning, I wake up and think, how in the world am I going to write a daily poem today? I think, I’ll just give up my many-months-long project to compose a small poem every single day. Then, I’ll walk outside, like this very morning, and an owl is calling to us (the dogs and I) in the darkness obscured by some pre-dawn fog, and there it is: a poem about the moment, taking shape.
Peace (in poetry),
Kevin