Years ago, I fell in love with Izumi Shikibu’s poetry. I am not the kind of guy who falls in love with poets. Most poetry, to me, is like modern art. I’m glad it exists, but I don’t need it in my house. Shikibu was different from the first five lines I read. I fell for her, completely. She was fast and sexy, delicate and direct at the same time. …and she wrote over a thousand years ago. I still have my first copy of The Ink Dark Moon, from more than 20 years ago, which came before all those others I gave as gifts to anyone I thought would … Continue reading Houston