I hear words play,
condensed, distilled,
large, rich and full.
Over and over,
new scenes unfold.
The clock ticks,
midnight looms.
The calendar page
is tipping while I hurry.
Robert Pinksy speaks,
Stanley Kunitz presents,
Louise Glück and others
I never met
hold my attention.
Recordings of poems
echo still, even
after my iPod stopped.
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