When I write poetry, I am not concerned with finishing a poem in one sitting. I write down as much as is floating through me: a phrase, an idea, or several lines. Eventually, I go back to these tidbits and grow them, and they blossom into poems, but only when they are ready and I am ready. There have been times when I have been taking a relaxing bath and words and phrases would begin floating down like snowflakes, and I would jump out of the tub and run to my computer to type these ideas which, in this case, turned into a finished poem, competed in a single sitting; it felt like I was the stenographer for a muse from the other side of the universe. I do not sit down at my keyboard with the intention of writing a poem, but rather I leave the window to my soul open and let the butterfly of unborn poetry enter and sit on my shoulder when it is ready. When the words to a poem arrive, I am powerless to do anything else but write. For me, writing is oxygen, and poetry is the language of the universe, and I must listen. If there is a hell, I would know that I were there if I were told on my first day there that I would not be allowed to write poetry for eternity. I find poetry's dance to be a healing experience in the same way that intimacy keeps a relationship healthy and vibrant. Intimacy is all about being vulnerable and being willing to become visible to another person. When I write poetry, I share who I am, making myself, my soul, visible for all who read my poetry. The reader is treated to a slide show of the landscape of my journey. Aha moments, an essential element in the creation of a poem, percolate below the surface, waiting for the invisible connecting-of-the-dots process to finish; eventually, a poem is born. The process of writing poetry brings out that which must see the light of day. Writing poetry is like being in a relationship without secrets; the creative process enables me to share, to pour out my rivers of thought laced with emotion. Although the selections of poetry in Snowflakes from the Other Side of the Universe might not appear to be part of the same tapestry, with a closer examination, one can recognize that writing, being, seeing, mortality, and grief are threads in the tapestry of life. And so, I share my observations and insights from my journey. Enjoy.