Blue sky, clouds, and haze.
There is sunlight now. We could get anything.
Mis-spell sunlight, you get "sinlight." which could be the attractiveness of evil, perhaps.
Whom do you know who gets up in the morning, writes down stuff like that, and isn't on medication, in restraints? You are a poet not because you write poems; you are a poet because of how you see. Are there too many people writing poems without seeing in new ways? I'm not close enough to the world of poetry these days to know. I think if I were teaching poetry, I'd concentrate not on techniques, I'd concentrate on seeing. I'd put a vase in front of the student every day of the course, they'd look at it every day, they'd write of what they see.
Perhaps I would teach them meditation. Perhaps I would insist they write an essay for me, "How I See." The journal, the poem, the essay - connection.
Seagulls on the field of alfalfa; the alfalfa starting to green up. A crow again in the hawk's tree.
Seeing - is it a matter of ways of knowing? How we know is how we see? Can you be a poet if you cannot imagine the truth?
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