"wind carries/ a touch of--not heat--/ a warmth that brushes the skin:/ the dragon of summer stirs"

[larryhammer]

There. I declare revisions to A Desert Year complete: 366 poems, each buffed and polished, or in 30-odd cases replaced, all shuffled into something resembling an effective sequence. This being the poem-a-day project started almost five years ago, describing the cycle of seasons in southern Arizona -- now as good as I can get it. Now ready to send out into the world, at least once I finish writing this proposal.

This puts me up to two collections on submission. Which reminds me, I need to toss Ice Melts in the Wind at its next hopeful destination. But first:

Woofs.

In case you're wondering, or would enjoy it anyway, today's poem is:

    After a windy day,
a moon like a tarnished dime
    rises through the haze
and a single cricket chirps
in the trees along the wash.

Now back to revising the YA novel.

---L.

Subject quote from A Desert Year, from "5 May."

Comments

[puddleshark.livejournal.com]

Lovely. Thank you.