Yesterday morning, after I finished my post to you, I opened my notebook and began transcribing a few scribbles. And suddenly I was down the rabbit hole . . .

An hour later I surfaced to discover that I was putting together shards from multiple scribblings into a longish piece about poetic craft and concern. At the moment the poem as a whole is called "Desk Work," and each section is a metaphorical response to an abstraction: "Conscience," "Ruthlessness," "Accident," and so on. I had no idea of writing such a poem, no plan to combine these scraps into new form, and yet here I am, with a project bubbling into life. The brain is such a crazy, amazing beast.

The rest of the day was fairly quiet--a small venture out to the stores, reading, some games of cribbage, lots of conversation, and then dinner out with the family. And meanwhile the new poem clattered around in my head, pitching and rolling like a baby in a basket.