I Wish I Could Press Snowflakes In

It Is Always Pleasant To Learn That Someone Takes An Interest In A Work Which One Enjoyed Writing

Looking At The Sky Last Night And The Moon In The First Fresh Dark, Just A Few Stars, Bright With Their Cold Flares, I Had A Little Crumpled Thought, 'oh Well, The Moon. It's Just Another Place Like California.' One's Imagination Drags Its Feet As We Are Inexorably Hauled Into The Future.

However, If A Poem Can Be Reduced To A Prose Sentence, There Can't Be Much To It.

The Aim Of The Poet, Or Other Artist, Is First To Make Something; And It's Impossible To Make Something Out Of Words And Not Communicate

What Are The Questions You Wish To Ask?