Cannonball!!!* Diving from the tattered rope into the writer's pool, drenching any nearby poets with a tsunami of images. Remembering the sheer joy of finding such a swimming hole, and grabbing the chance again and again to drop fearlessly into soul's center. Today, a toe tests gingerly familiar water, as hands open the poet's chest with cold-blooded intent and wrap themselves gently about a muse's heart and begin... to squeeze... to pulse... in time...