Sticky Pudding.

The thing is, it doesn't look like winter out there any more. I'm not saying it doesn't look cold, or that it isn't cold, or that anything's anywhere near the kind of green we'd like to see, but the morning sun's shifted off the corner of that apartment building in the ANYLF back yard and slid back almost to its middle, and by mid-morning it's higher in the sky, is starting to trace a rounder arc. We're a handful of weeks away from the equinox now. The daffodils are taller every day. Those who celebrate are Lenting. Those who don't are tracking the sun across the buildings in their back yards.

"It has been a long time since I have written a poem," Rexroth says the poet Ou Yang Hsiu said in the mid-to-late 1000s. "My ideas are like sticky pudding."