I slowed down today

and I sat in the sun, and unplugged from the "world" and listened to the World. And when I opened a book, I read this:

Poets make things. True enough. But they don't make poetry, or they don't make it from nothing. Poetry is present to begin with; it is there, and poets answer it if they can. The poem is the trace of the poet's joining in knowing.

Thank you Robert Bringhurst for writing this. Thank you Loyola Marymount for lending this book. And thank you SF Library for allowing me to read this book for free.

Visit your local library. Pick up a book. Slow down.