July 2, 2020

Woke with true euphoria. Misty morning, as promised by the weathermen last night.

Reading over my poems, trying to assemble a new book. Some of them make me shake, they are so good. Others, not. When I go astray in poetry it is usually by having shown the route and not just the destination, something I warned my students against without heeding myself, sometimes. I forget how boring the Wordsworth in me can be.