Here I am, I am looking at a tree, and I am going to die

I would love to stay and talk a while, but the mail just came and I, um, suddenly have a very important meeting I have to attend.

Turns out that my dear sweet Billy has a new book out. Let’s all buy it and meet in a meadow and invite him to come read it aloud to us while we lie on our backs and feel clouds move through light and dark and light-dark on the underside of our lids.

Or something like that.

From the article (and, my lord, be still my little pea-picking heart, there is a veritable centerfold photo of the man), this:

"’The lyric poem is basically about you dying,’ he says. ‘Here I am, I am looking at a tree, and I am going to die. You could take 83 percent of lyric poems and put them under that heading, with variations on that observation.’"

And so, my dear friends, I think what we are engaged in here, in this 37 day countdown, is a collaborative, community, lyric poem.

I’ll be right back. Got some reading to do.