Typing those words above, I think, ‘I could not type those words. I could untype them. I could taptaptap the delete key until they are gone.’ But if I don’t delete them, then I’ve begun, I’ve committed to the beginning of poetry month. Then you get to watch. And  wonder, ‘Will she stay the course? Will she make it thirty days to the very end?’  Hmmm…it’s probably not as tense a wondering as say, watching Phillip Petite cross on a wire between the now disappeared twin towers…But still, you wonder, will she make it?

To add a bit more tension to the derring-do of Poetry Month, I’ve decided to write thirty poems under one title. Say what? One poem with 30 sections? Or one title with 30 poems?  Hmmm…I wish I knew. All I know is the title: The Architecture of Fire. No I don’t have any poems worked out. But the phrase keeps pulling me at me. A ‘What if’ begins to form. What if I let those words—The Architecture of Fire—inspire a poem each day? What if I see where it takes ms?

It could be terrible. I could fuck up wildly.

Or not.

Who knows?

My right foot slides onto the wire. Then my left. I hold my arms out. For balance.

For when I turn into a bird.