Last night was one of those nights I went into with nothing to do, but came out with a full plate, two entreés (one was raw), an old friend, and then poems.
When I write now, Arden lays in my lap and dozes.
I took that bit and put it in the poem. A limousine appeared. It was driving into Colorado. It upsets me the way fences scar the landscape and nobody cares. Good fences make good neighbors. Is it good to be holding ourselves apart? That’s the question I’m asking here:
how are we