Bob

In a church on a Thursday for the Writer's Studio birthday.
Edward Hirsch, among others, reads. There's a list,
somewhere. There are many lists these days.

Churches have lists too, but churches also have arches
and under one arch I have found my muse, Bob.
He is speaking of churches and arches and I am

Facing my urges to do more in churches than
muses allow (or at least urge) to be done. Or
so I have heard or been told or both. His book

of new and collected poems "The Figured Wheel"
probably nailed him the Poet Laureate gig. 10 years old
and still "hot." He signs my copy not just "Bob," no

he writes an inscription to remain close to my heart and
in this church under this arch with this urge I feel
heat emerge, warm enough to rekindle ashes.