Most of the things a poet has to say br are tentative, lists of foggy clues br and suppositions-an unattested version br of the way the wind breathes at night, br an essay at atmosphere, predictions br as unreliable as weather forecasts. I stab br at the truth with a pencil, sometimes, br moved too suddenly to words by the shadings br on a cloud, or its shape, shivering br at a hint of thunder (sure that it br means something) . br br But in the lines set down on paper br all suggestions become categories- br intuition or illusion edited to sound br like logic. Naked ideas turn assertive br in print, sharp, as intricate br as the edges of a woods in winter seen br against a blank sky. The most fluid br of impressions hardens like frozen br rain. A cold front is passing over. br I hazard a guess; you take it br for reality.