Poems can come out of the blue. Literally. Early this morning I found a poem on the beach. I was just walking along with Nelson like I do every morning and two women passed who were speaking Italian. I thought how much I loved the sound of that language. And then I noticed the ocean had turned lavender (I know that sounds overly poetic but that was the color it was at 6:50 am.) And then – And then! There was a fellow standing next to his truck in the empty parking lot north of Chautauqua playing bagpipes. Bagpipes!
Now that's what I call being handed sounds and colors for a poem.