A Sketch on My First Writers’ Workshop, for V.

by Laurence Foshee

Voice and mood yoke
In wintry dusk
Cut from pen’s smoke.

This is our task,
Oh lost Plains child
Reaped from rhyme’s husk:

Inter one wild
Agon, one cheap
Mood and voice styled

Courtly—or leap,
Artemisian
Roe, torn to weep

This dazed season
Out in bone broke
Ripeness of moon.

(A Dimeter Terza Rima Acrostic)