When I was 9, I wrote stories. When I was 10, I decided to re-write the family dictionary into a new language of my own creation (an attempt soon aborted); perhaps an early sign of my love affair with language.
Poetry has become my newest challenge; finding precisely the right marriage of words to meaning.
The haiku illustrated here is a distillation of something beautiful I saw one snowy night in Syracuse.
Through a scrim of snow
See crows huddled on bare branch
Black on black in white
