I was out late last night playing music, but this morning I'm all about housework and garden work and taking trash to the dump and making bread and making pies and mowing grass and pruning dead wood out of shrubs.

In between I might be able to keep fixing up that poem I'm working on. The title is "The Husbands," and the characters are a mystery to me. They are the blank spot inside the frame of the poem. It is an absorbing task, creating the shape of this empty space, but the poem isn't quite right yet, and I don't have time to sit on a couch and concentrate on the job. Anyway, spending a weekend moving heavy, dirty things often helps me solve poem problems, so that is what I am going to do.