Another poet, reading Sandburg,
claimed the challenge of a poem
is a sense of sound and structure.
Blank verse not verse at all,
but wolfish prose in sheepish clothing -
tennis played without a net.

To me, a net's a barrier;
a woven cage of twine and rope
spread to catch me taking risks. It
keeps me safe, keeps me angry,
feeds to full my fear of falling
graceless, from taut wires of passion.

I come to love the fear and anger.
Days of process, days of progress
unwind cords of prior *******.
Rule by rule, step by step there
comes a danger, comes a freedom -
writing poems without a net.