Notes on the Art of Poetry

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on / in the world between the covers of books, / such sandstorms and ice blasts of words / such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,  / such and so many blinding bright lights / splashing all over the pages / in a million bits and pieces / all of which were words, words, words, / and each of which were alive forever / in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.