Earlier, during my absence from here

November 1, 2009

a photo I took of leaves/water

Last Sunday, I wrote a book, a short book, but it helps. And before I wrote it, this poem came to me in the night—

I can’t sleep because
I’m in love, having
only just learned how
to write. The shad-
ows move across
the walls, blink
branches.

And I’ve begun another book, a collection of encounters with so-called strangers. Here are some possible inclusions in the book—

A stranger said “beaten and robbed” and then asked me for money. I pointed across the street to the fire department, but the stranger didn’t go.

A stranger complained to me that the bus was traveling slowly. I said something like, “The movement of the bus makes me sleepy.”

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