I remember
staying up all
night riding poems.
Simile eyes
black as periods on
end-stopped lines.
We saddled them
with conceits
over blankets
of metaphor,
spurred them on,
reveling in each
galloping anapest
and cantering
dactyl.
Your poem
carried you far,
it’s tetrameter
opening up
a fervent gait,
but my poem
lost its footing
on a broken
enjambment and
I had to put
This was first published in Common Threads, Volume 69, Number 1, Spring/Summer 2009.
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