We need the rain and the moments to collect ourselves.
The onslaught of reckoning with all this sudden water.
On Valentine’s Day, I could not move, but Tobi drove me around to meetings.
And then, too sick for sushi we just planted ourselves with chicken soup and I read him Neruda love poems. When I got better, he was sick, so I have been cooking, stuffing peppers and making sweet potatoes. We are in a killer slump from heavy work and in a fateful happiness to find ourselves looking into books, peering at poems, not rushing, not thick with papers. The pile I have to edit stares back at me and when I am well, I will prowl into my office and make it disappear. Until then–wet air, sleepy dog, breathing.