Poetry

Teach me again how to hold glass. I have forgotten the gentle touch of your words.

Remind me how glass is like a river, how to slide the cutter along the line we've made together, having measured twice.

with kelly it is estuary, almost a carmen sandiego kindof wariness, cloistered if not unrelenting, a heat that hardens to the point of the spear. one could almost agree to the ural mountains

        Sense is a poem with 22 ilkes ruins a carp     of bothersome hand    bells or sanded    to round stitch           a whole        fundy sometimes that old mustard feeling

I loved the words, the names,when I was a boy whenhis blue eye turned meto the muscular heft of arms,Winchester and Remington,