How much better it seems now br than when it is finally done– br the unforgettable first line, br the cunning way the stanzas run. br br The rhymes soft-spoken and suggestive br are barely audible at first, br an appetite not yet acknowledged br like the inkling of a thirst. br br While gradually the form appears br as each line is coaxed aloud– br the architecture of a room br seen from the middle of a crowd. br br The music that of common speech br but slanted so that each detail br sounds unexpected as a sharp br inserted in a simple scale. br br No jumble box of imagery br dumped glumly in the reader's lap br or elegantly packaged junk br the unsuspecting must unwrap. br br But words that could direct a friend br precisely to an unknown place, br those few unshakeable details br that no confusion can erase. br br And the real subject left unspoken br but unmistakable to those br who don't expect a jungle parrot br in the black and white of prose. br br How much better it seems now br than when it is finally written. br How hungrily one waits to feel br the bright lure seized, the old hook bitten.