Found it.
I spent more time that was logical (and certainly more than was available to me)
scouring back and forth over my shelves and rummaging through boxes looking for
this book. Since I couldn't find it on my shelves, I became convinced that it
had been stashed away in one of the many boxes of books that we packed when we
remodeled - many of which are still waiting for shelves so that we can unpack
them. But when I decided that I really couldn't finish work on this column without
finding the book, I opened all of the remaining (approximately 12) boxes of books
and rifled through them. I found lots of things I was happy to find, but not the
book I was looking for.
In the end, it was, as was to be expected, a case of having my fingers in too
many pots. Only after reaching the conclusion that I wasn't going to find the
book did another, this time correct, possibility present itself. There I was,
scratching my head, trying to figure out why the book wasn't in any of the places
where I had expected to find it, when I realized that there was yet another possibility.
A couple of months earlier, I'd taken it with me to work to show to a colleague,
to suggest a possible future project. Sure enough, it was stashed away in one
of my drawers there.
Go to: Poetry
is where you find it, or
Go to: Spamming me
softly with his song