reading Robert Bly’s "Morning Poems"

Doesn’t matter
How many times
The letters cross my eyes
It remains –
Why this curly mouse?
Why those poems about
Poets,
Those oceans
Filled with rain?
Why those farms, shocks,
That
Conversing with a
Soul…

Come, let’s meet
In a cafe in Maine
I’ll buy the coffee,
You bring the
Letters.

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