Drip, drip, drip~ the snow off dormers, words
are sharpening, shaping, spilling. Filling in
the winter's edges, everywhere a poet's corner,
every strophe, a poet's hedges, every
where~ the words are air.
In the halfway world between waking and sleep,
in the shadow drapes of dreams, only here would you find
the surreal yet Jungian familiarity of the images
and landscapes of graphic artist
