The poem…

is a space capsule in which impossible combinations feel
casual. The body of the capsule is of necessity very strong to have
broken out of gravity. It is the hard case for the frail experiments
inside. Not frail in the wasted sense, but frail in the opposite sense:
the brief visibility of the invisible.

-Kay Ryan, from Specks

What is the poem, if not a path, a vivid glimpse of the invisible? I love how the poem slows down an experience, an idea, an object, to call it by name, leave it resting in the heat of our pockets.

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Categories: Inspiration, Writing

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