Frost came first. Then Hugo. Then Roethke. Then Frost again. Twentieth century lyrics absorbed into the same mental jumble of colloquial files, remembered in a stream, resonating slowly as I close the day, welcoming sleep.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening … Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg … The Waking … Stopping By Woods ….
… lovely, dark and deep … The car that got you here still runs … her red hair lights the wall … learn by going where I have to go … miles to go before I sleep.
dream ranch 