found online by Raymond
From Vincent at A Wayfarer’s Notes:
Words have a power of their own. Poets especially like to play with this power, like perfumiers combining ingredients. I often find myself brooding on a word or phrase, perhaps from what someone says, or a book, or as spoken to my inward ear. In my last piece, self-mocking at the time, I conveyed an intent to write about words, but then “consigned it to the great junkyard of unwritten ideas”. This, I fancy, is the very place where Phoenix is to be found, awaiting rebirth in due course.