In the world of poetry, time trips along in a wholly whimsical way, rushing along then stopping to gaze around, at the stars, the changing leaves–who knows?–only that Time, my old friend and sometime antagonist, has tugged me on my shirt to say, “That poem you wrote, the one about nanoseconds and the cosmos, the one you haven’t thought about in weeks, well, someone’s been reading it.” What? And then I slow down and look around and think, thank you thank you (for the stars and leaves and for poetry and people who love it and even more the ones who like mine).

It’s been nominated for a Pushcart, that poem called “Hydrostatic Shock,” by my publisher, Fleur-de-lis Press and The Louisville Review. Isn’t that a nice present for a beautiful rainy November day?

So here it is, if you want to take a listen (ignore any background noise, as I’m in Wetherby Administration Bldg, waiting for a committee meeting, at which, I might add, there will be no poetry read).

And thank you so much, Ellyn Lichvar and the rest of the (clearly talented and awesomely perceptive) folks at Fleur-de-Lis and The Louisville Review.