I just returned from the first session of the Kenyon Review’s Young Writer’s Workshop where I was fortunate enough to work with some amazingly talented young writers. We wrote poems about ghosts, though it was nature who haunted us with it’s scary dresses of heat. I head back to Gambier for another session next week.
The flags didn’t dance
until I arrived. Noise glitters
after everyone claps. Take
the stairs, point at the ones
with lakes growing on their
backs. The electricity in the air
in which I become.