This blog has lain dormant for some time now. Curious, how writers and their platforms can slip into states of 4-month hibernation. When I step into the musty air of Old English class, I am reminded of why I came to study English. There is a grounding there, in the phonemes and the verb tenses, and we say words like “swā swā,” chorally chanting, until a nearby Greek and Roman Studies professor comes by and closes the door, saying, “really, I do believe it’s a beautiful language.” I stare at the blackboard, watching my professor balance and counterbalance the noun phrases, watching as he coordinates a coordinating conjunction with an “and” or an “or” and thinking, “This. This must be poetry.” The prepositional phrases dangle off the subject and its modifiers like grocery bags, and the professor then adds more prepositional phrases, more grocery bags, with milk and eggs and jam and cheese and honey, until the sentence forms a long gold string of endlessly melting candles, reflecting and bouncing, one after another, down a long, dark, mirrored hallway. This is what I have come to write about, I think, and I start typing.