As usual, I will be posting my poem-drafts here from the beginning until the end of April, and then they'll all disappear due to the magick of the interwebs fairies. I may occasionally send you to other blogs to see what's up there, too. I'm having a difficult time getting into the right groove for this year. It will, considering the family's health, be the worst year ever for me to keep up, so I'm giving myself a head start and posting a draft tonight that I wrote a few days ago. I want to be a couple poems ahead of the game, so I don't stress when I miss a day, as will do. This one needs a new ending, but I haven't seen it yet. :-/    Dowsing  The forest for the trees, he said as the cows lowed.  The sun dropped behind the mountain in blue-orange fire.  First you sit a minute to clear your mind,  he said, and plopped down on a chunk of granite.   Closed his eyes. I watched his eyelids tremble and still.  Best is wood, he said finally, hold a forked branc...
Like the title says.