Already, I hear that a few people have signed up for my October writing retreat. I'm so pleased. There's no question that the Zoom option does make it possible to attract people who would otherwise not be able to travel . . . and that not paying for food and lodging keeps everything cheaper. If you have questions about how the sessions will work, please let me know. Be assured that it is open to everyone: you can be a serious practicing poet, or someone who rarely writes or reads poetry. We'll share the gift of deep conversation: as a group, but also within ourselves. And by "deep" I don't mean "hard to understand." I mean "open, vulnerable, emotional, precise, and wide-ranging." This is a conversation we all need, and that we can all take part in as equals.

I hope you'll pardon me for launching into this sales pitch for the retreat. But as I began writing this morning's post, I was struck with a sudden fervor for the kind of work I do . . . which is work I can no longer do in a traditional classroom setting. I am passionate about teaching. Mine is an odd, rarefied, non-prime-time approach, but still, it's not nothing. I think opening these wormholes between art and individual is one small way to preserve our humanity. It's not the only way, but it's the door I'm reaching for.