Really? Only once?

It was James Longenbach's The Art of the Poetic Line that brought me to Louise Glück's "Nostos" and its ending that speaks of or to a kind of ironic enlargement.

As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
The sentence fragment about expectations about lyric poets could be a comment on all the description that precedes or it could be announcing the procedure of observation-rememoration, a conniving between the reader and the writer — that "we" that is all grown up.

And so for day 1616