I did write yesterday, productively, and as a result I am feeling both vigorous and honest this morning, two sensations that might also be a definition of poetry. In addition to constructing a new draft that I like, I also began to identify some compilation possibilities for a sheaf of pieces that have not been fitting into any other collection--poems that are harsher and more political than much of my other work. Right now I am calling this group American Anger, though that title will likely change. For the moment I'm just happy to have figured out that they, too, have a cohort.

Today: my hard yoga class (challenging postures, impossible balancing tasks . . . another definition of poetry?) and then editing an academic journal and reading other peoples' manuscripts. I'm still delighted with The Makioka Sisters, still reading Sonnets to Orpheus.

And dear ones: don't forget to send in your applications to the Frost Place. Poetry needs you.