Yesterday, the snowpack was in retreat, revealing hidden activity in the front gardens on my block.
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In one of his poems e.e. cummings mocks the inventor who builds “an instrument to measure spring with.” His description of the inventor — “some oneyed son for a bitch”– brings to mind a camera.
Hands off my camera, e.e.
Tags: e. e. cummings, lip to lip, Spring, voices to voices