On Gamma Ways, Mark Young writes: one of the consequences of writing that way was you inhabited the insides of the poems, in a sense built them from the inside out, lived with them, knew every word, every space between them.

And I like this idea of inhabiting the insides of the poems. The poem as structure, as home, as shelter, as a space for the poet to inhabit appeals to me. But how do I know if a poem I write invites the reader to come in and sit down and share this space with me?

When it comes to writing and the transformation of words into art, I have this image of artists/poets pulling inspiration out of the ether. I think of the artist/poet as being something of a mage, brewing the words/images in a cauldron, uttering incantations over it until it consolidates, takes form and shape and becomes the written word we savor on our tongues.

But yeah, that's the speculative writer inside me...and I was always the one who saw giants materializing out of darkness when the shape was really just my father's coat hanging on the back hook of our bedroom door .