Thursday, March 29

It's dangerous to lie down
mid'day, late March and dark,
a heavy, wet snow falling from the sky
or rising from the ground, it's hard
to say, the day a blur
as you drift off toward sleep
rather than keeping your eye on
the great world around you
where it should be if you are
to earn the right to be
called a poet, attentive to
the details of everyday life -
the quality of light, the specific
gravity of the snow, the exact
weight of birdsong and wing.
 - Ronald Wallace
from To Sleep

  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov