Variation on an old koan:
There are three kinds of poets: those that count feet, and those that don't.

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It's cold and windy and stormy in the Northwest. I want this upcoming presidential election to be over. I want to hunker down and go to bed early, then get up in the middle of the night to write bits of poems, and return to bed just as it is beginning to get light again. I want to make pork roast and beef roast and winter squash and pumpkin ravioli. I want to go to the bookstore and find a book of poems that terrifies me or changes me or makes me want to write something like I have never written before.

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