Poets

In the sand under the monkey bars
a pair of sparrows dip their breasts
and toss their wings. A moment ago
a black cat with a white mask
looked yellow at me, slipped
from pine tree to teeter-totter.
I do not see him now but he
is here and about our business.

______

Now there's a minor poem for you.... Oh well.

Besides the business of watching, there's the mugs' game of submissions and publications. I found a place that is looking for very short chapbooks -- six pages or so -- and I have sent them Barbara's poems. If a book is a thing that makes a whole, a collection where nothing should be added and nothing taken away, then Barbara's poems are a book. Even though they are only five pages long.

Hope to get my Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight proposals out this weekend too. And also work on my OAC Works in Progress manuscript. And I guess I should stir from the table once or twice.