Tonight I'm listening to John Fahey coax the legend of Blind Joe Death out of his fingers.
He's a ghost now, if you remember, dead for years, the guitar grown out of his bones.
Wordsworth is there too, whispering, "come forth into the light of things" and I imagine your blind left eye suddenly opening to the world again, and just then, you stoop to kiss the breasts of one of those cow dogs turned maiden and one of her wondrous nipples pierces your good eye.
[1] Delp was an instructor of creative writing at the Interlochen Center for the Arts in Michigan.
[3] He was co-editor (with Conrad Hilberry and Herbert Scott) of the anthology Contemporary Michigan Poetry: Poems from the Third Coast (1988).