I was about seven. We got up early and piled into the car to see a solar eclipse. A park? The beach? Looking through polarized film. I don't remember much of that sun. Rather, remains the ever-after image of dad's eyes's, his ring.
Friday, May 5, 2017
Thursday, May 4, 2017
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
An Ars Poetica written about seventeen years ago on the Back Forty Ranch, long before I knew what an Ars Poetica was; seventeen years later this poem's meaning remains mystery to me.
Seventeen years later, that mystery still compels.