Behind this wall of paper lives a poem no subscription will reveal. The poem is invisible. No journal can hold this poem. There is no log-in, no fee, no access, yet the poem is free. The words spill into the paper like seawater over a levee. This poem must be imagined. Later, after the reader leaves this book-less library, a pinch of dry salt will be enough to recall this poem.
The Coming of the Toads 
Salt and sugar, oil and vinegar, lard and lettuce write poetry!
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… She writes through water,
plankton spinning under stars,
coding the cosmos …
My pinch of salt :) recalling lines from a poem of mine.
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