January 2, 2019

A little angry at things yesterday, I am going to designate today– into which I woke clear and joyful– as the first day of my year. 

Michael Havens phones New Year’s night, reminiscing. He uncovered poems, even whole books of them, I had given him in the 70's. He read the titles and I remembered almost none. Some were written specifically for or to him. I must have loved him more than I remember. He wanted to know if I wanted any of them copied and sent back to me. “No,” I said, “no.”

I seemed to have hired Finn McGill and his Brazilian friend for a house concert on May 7. Maybe the excuse will be the publication of The Falls of the Wyona.

Looked back at my journal for 2018. It was, objectively speaking, a trying year. Some triumphs. It would have been lovely for the high places not to have alternated so relentlessly with the pits.