again i read a poem of yours only this time it is not a repeating form but in a completely different style, yet the voice of the poet is the same and the words flow through the lines like droplets bright and shining from leaves onto the flowers .... oh, yeah, they sit in trees these little squirrels that plague us and they chatter at us and run up and down our backs when we are trying to find something worthwhile and they chatter at snowflakes in the winter and at birds in the summer and it is as though we were their only season, and they are never aware of the difference ... and, the fact is, they don't care about us, they only chase their own tail ... their true love is their need, and they bury their food and forget where it is. Sorry, I sometimes blab too much. Your poem is just wonderful. Find some peace.