Here at my desk at Magnetic Poetry I've got a couple of metal easels (which we sell, if you want one of your own) and several containers of magnetic tiles from various versions of our kits. The words are all mixed together at this point; I no longer know, for instance, which kit this word "shave" came from. Or this word "mutual" (I'm just looking over at one of my easels here). Are those two words from the same kit? I don't know, and I don't care. I like the fact that all these word tiles have gotten mixed up through me playing with them, by me "stealing" words from various boxes to make a poem more interesting, by me just dumping handfuls of words into jars and forgetting about them until I want to refresh an easel with new words. There's a slow word migration happening here around my desk, and it keeps things random and surprising and sometimes serendipitous. Which is all to say that when I glanced over at the easel this morning, I noticed that the three words "the very promise" were near each other, which suggested something, and led to this, which I think is quite nice.
The Promise Of Love