After the long winter …the words flow more easily though there is pause as inspiration moves with the tension of nature’s vibration. If a bud hesitates so does the premise of the poem, the thought, the word. The sentence. At times, with the rain, or out of the suns rays there is a gust of wind that rips words, stanzas, phrases, experiments of wild abandon with language into some placement on a page — a form bursts into view. This is Spring Process.
My second manuscript, as a sculpture molded from clay, or shaped from stone, be it a chisel or a special grinding mechanism that allows the breaking into edges or the smoothing of the medium, in this case, the rock–that case the page. It comes into form. Peaking as a bud into process. Revealing itself. Persisting beyond the language of wo[man].