The 5,000-pound desk-work anvil has dropped: two fat new editing projects, a last-minute essay assignment for Beloit, a teetering stack of residency applications, and a glimpse of me, as flat as a coyote under an Acme crate.

As consolation, last night I received this note about my embryo manuscript: "So far, the first two sections contain their own brand of dynamic energy that really set this apart from a 'poem at a time' type of collection. It is novelic in its invitation for the reader to continue on."

I'm relieved that I've managed to convince at least a few of the poems in the ms to talk to one other. I'll try to hold on to that feeling as I wade into my sea of obligation.

Outside, new snow--a blanket of wet that was supposed to be rain. Inside, a bouquet of cilantro on the kitchen counter, a pumpkin pie in the refrigerator, a cup of coffee in my hand.

I'll find time  to walk out today and pick up the three translations of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus I ordered from the library. I'll find a moment to sit with Dante. I'll read Love Medicine over lunch.

Words, words. The master and the servant.