Riffing on one of Denver's daily poems:

4 out of 5 semioticians, 
when cornered, 
will assert that the opposite of somersault is not winter sugar.  
But some of the less well-moored will wink as they say it, 
just in case.


and stapling a black tailfeather onto one of his drowning ghazals:


My son is the raven of glittering eye
And he thinks that we send too few to the sky.


It is good, I think, to stir hot poetry into the morning's second cup of black coffee.


Denver and Sawako and Joseph have been reminding me . . . .