A man with an indigo guitar lived in the church basement, at least for the winter. One day he met a woman at a coffee place. Or maybe she found him, his indigo guitar, and his church-basement sanctuary, that cold November night. She made only one promise: that she would stay until the first crocus of spring. During that time, they made a collection of their musings on topics for poems or songs that would probably never be written. This is their collection of those “Thoughts That are not Poems.”
