I indeed miss the poetry but more so
the poets, not the ones splayed out
with famed names, but rather ones
who hammer in the black guilt hours
to bring it all broken to a nervous table.
Forget line, your lyric, the bit/noose
of metered verse. I love you.
Isn’t that all we’re here for?
— Amber Haines
maybe I’ll do a poem a day with the heart of my friend, Amy Turn Sharp