This review is already many words longer than the poem itself. It’s on stiff white paper, like a tall greeting card, if you will. In hard courier font, like an old typewriter, as you know. You sense here that Cain breathes life onto such a few words, that like puffing on the white husk of a dandelion, the scattering seeds will crop up again somewhere, unexpected.
poem, 1 pg, ?$, Stephen Cain, 603-323 13th Ave SW, Calgary, AB, T2R 0K3