Fire must have a fuel and the heart’s fuel is love. The love that makes poetry burn is not just the green of this spring, but draws on the ancient web of sympathetic, compassionate, and erotic acts that lies behind our very existence, a stored energy in our genes and dreams—fossil love a sly term for that deep-buried sweetness brought to conscious thought. Water is creation, the mud we crawled on; the wash of tides in the cells. The Water Poet is the Creator. His calligraphy is the trails and tracks we living beings leave in each other; in the world; his poem.
