I have an idea.
I have things, I have books, I have a son – I peeped into his book – he wrote about Galileo.
I have an old book about Galileo about the refutation of the accusation of the Inquisitors.
I have an idea, I have things,
I have an itch, I have notions.
I have a friend in China. She writes to me every year sending me pictures of China. Lin Lee is her name but that is all I know.
I have memories, which I select like cards slipped from the shoe.
I keep pictures from the past in a shoe box, slotted into decades.
I have a tree outside, slowly stirring in the early spring, its buds growing in the dark.
I have notions.