I'm on a bit of a roll these days. The new Seattle Review has a poem of mine, based on a painting by Winslow Homer. Those who have seen much of my verse will be pleased, I hope, to find that the poem is not a bit Frost-like. Well, hardly a bit. My biggest achievement in this poem I think is getting the Seattle Review to take it in the first place: It's the only even vaguely formal poem in the entire issue, and one of the very few they've published ever, as far as I know. While I try to stay away from the battle lines between formal and free verse, it's pleasant to think the lines are not as deeply drawn as they sometimes seem.