After my first year of university I took a few years off to travel. I lived, worked, and moved around Europe all alone. It was wonderful. I can remember vividly the quality of light, the sounds and smells, the taste of every place and experience I visited during that time, far more so than any other part of my life so far.

I didn’t take many pictures, and I didn’t keep a journal or diary, but I wrote poetry, and for many years afterward I kept up the habit.

I often think offering to let people read your poetry is like offering to tell them about this dream you had, something that is difficult to politely refuse (or endure). Occasionally, however, I will be surprised by someone who really enjoys it.

I think of poems as being, at their core, the distillation of moments, so I suppose I should think of it as offering you a drink. Cocktails are always rather subjective.