Yesterday evening Poppy and I walked up into the prairie. The golden rod begins its autumn beckoning. The grasses lack vigor. They’re less than half of last year’s height. I sat on a stone to watch the clouds figure and reconfigure. As I move back into work I realize again, how much I need to not fake it.

I’ve been reading poetry and writing new poems. Studying other people’s poetry reminds me of how much I enjoyed getting an MA in creative writing and how in the process I lost my voice as a poet. I wrote “acceptable