Dear Linda, Remember that letter I wrote you some years ago, maybe not, that it's all about the surprise? We await that blossoming, that...

For the first time today I saw the tree in my backyard, its fine but crooked branches spreading out from its small trunk stretching...

I envy poets who write in ink with broad-nibbed pens in large letters, like a jazz trumpeter who lifts his horn to his lips and blows...