The bushes Karl pruned some time ago are growing so well. The forsythia by the driveway still flowers, and receives more light than the forsythia by the garage and cedar fence. Both beautiful. I think about writing poetry, and how often when I revise, the poem is shorter. And sometimes a poem grows longer. A haiku may become a tanka.

When I review my archives, I may also remember the inspiration for a poem, and can see how I could write the poem now. An older poem can become a new poem. At the same time, an earlier poem may seem less “perfect” – yet true to the time when I wrote the poem. Always room to grow.

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