It was Hemingway
  early

And Dickinson
   late

Those early
  exposures

The trail of
  my wake

No bar left
  unvisited

Or brawl left
  unfought

No school that could
   answer

Dialectic
  corrupt

Now this corner
  I sit in

Both welcomes
  and warms

And the thoughts
  it retriggers

No movement
  just form

I once had
  looked over

What I now look
  within

From this chair
  that I captain

Where in virtue
  —I sin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)