Guy Reed                                     

  

I want my poems to be like boats on a mighty river. Perhaps, 18-foot fishing skiffs to navigate, sometimes upstream, cut into the unified liquid surface, weight and pressure, the entire body of water moving, its depth and force of mass pressing against the hull’s displacement. Your feet pressed askew across the keel, hands on the gunnels. History branches forward, two shores and a ribbon of water teeming with life.