Dear April I see you have arrived a day early wearing your gauze of showers and I have mistakenly put black pepper in my cereal instead of salt

Dear April I want to write to you each day of you about poetry and where it comes from and I don't want to bother about whether I am writing proper prose nonfiction because time is short — your time, our time — and anyway it seems weird to get too prosey about poetry (sorry, scholars)

Dear April since we're getting started early here's something I posted just last night:

my poor extremities born the same day as the rest of me yet so much colder

am I always going to extremes because ambiguity is work

come to think of it my feet were born first

I had gone to extreme lengths not to leave home

but is that why I think best on my feet