[stones taught me to fly]

My cousin tried teaching me to skip stones-

the lake a mirror: smooth, and he

broke

it with a quiet flick.

I never could. The stone

weighed strange in my hand, loud

and unforgiving.

I feared the looking glass,

the deep united eternity returning

my gaze; and I not as brave as he

to risk seven years.

Why I Hate Ezra Pound

If I wrote a supercilious two line poem,
I still wouldn't be famous.