A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-One-Hundred-And-Fifty-Seven

I am feeling good about the poems I am writing at the moment, at least in a general sense.  If I were to pull one out to examine it, I might feel less enthused, but the sense I have as I write them is itself a measure, for me.  It is a suspect measure, one that can mislead, in some ways, but the feeling of the work expanding and deepening is not usually deluded.  I feel close to something, as if I am circling and may land soon at the center.  It is a sense of impending discovery, and I am excited.  I know the key is in allowing it to happen, as it can be a fragile process, but it feels like I am on the cusp of something important.  I am excited to realize just what that might be.

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