These have been strange days. . . I feel somewhat altered today. As a poet, I always feel that's its difficult to stop my thinking from thinking. Somewhere in the moment when a thought has reached beyond words, I build an image to try to capture it's feeling. It's more difficult than it seems, and sometimes, I wish there was a handbook for poets that warns of building fires too close to home. Finally, after five years of consistent travel and reading appearances, the poems are beginning to arrive, and with each door they open, there are others that slip by and rattle their teeth in the dark where I refuse to look. My office is a mess, my mind is caving away to a new one and the heat is pouring its white heat onto these hours.