I keep losing the jewels only to find them again. Yesterday’s epiphanies have grown stale. I needed vision. But today, I have achieved a deepening and darkening of psychological textures. The web is drawn ever tighter, the circle is closing, and there is an end in view. I imagine this end to look like a small pinhole of light, but it is a point that, once reached, opens up into infinity again, because there is always a further place to go. I sit here trying to draw perfect circles and toss the failed ones away like ruined and bent circus hoops. I treasure my circus hoops, though it is frustrating when I don’t get them right the first time. But with time and practice, wisdom and experience, the rate of error can change (?). There are times when I am able to take a snapshot in words of the initial flash and moment of inspiration. It can be perfectly captured. And I assure you that it is more effortlessly captured through mistakes, because poetry is the mind in the act of making one. What are these moments of inspiration? How does one go about recognizing them? Merely, I see the pinhole of light. I put my hands into it and stretch it further. As an artist, my impulse is not to obscure what I already see, but to reveal.