A bridge as a frame, as a mirror, as a filter. Flowers often hijack my poems, which is why I loved this photo so much when I took it—a way to express more than I do in my poetic form of words organized in lines. This photo was taken from about one-third of the way across Bow Bridge in Central Park, New York City.
Dreaming about summer. Every day is like this—a crossing made of stones, a river bounded by stones, and a couple of caves hewn in stones. Dante Alighieri was inspired in this gorge, and I’ve been reading the Divine Comedy, slowly and aloud, since visiting it last summer. Poetry offers this bridge every time.