The apricot tree is so full of fruit that the branches have bent to the ground. One branch snapped off, jagged torn from the trunk. Sometimes part of us can be broken by what we cannot let go of.
I’m working on my next book, with a growing stack of final poems, and a growing burn pile of former versions of those poems in process. As Bradbury famously said, “It was a pleasure to burn.” Step by step now,…