...was "The Old Poet, Dying" by August Kleinzahler from The Strange Hours Travelers Keep.
As my fellow alumni from the Sage Hill Fall Poetry Colloquium know, I begin each morning with coffee and poems. It's been a habit of mine for years, but it was especially conspicuous at St. Michael's because I'd park myself in one of those large armchairs, feet up on a register, the view of the Qu'Appelle Valley before me. It was heavenly. At home I always begin my morning reading by my favourite window, the east light falling on the pages, the cat curled up beside me. Anyhow, I thought I'd post the first poem I read today, a variation of Edward Willett's practice on his blog.