January 29, 2022

Fierce winter storm. Under the sound of the wind is the sound of squirrels scrambling and gnawing in the attic. They should be grateful just to have shelter. 

Robins continue to mob the surrounding trees. 

Received the proof book for The Ones with Difficult Names. My delight in seeing it is balanced by the full ton of errors– several of them new after the last edit. I realize my poems require unusual attention to sentence structure. The last time I proofed, I noted that the poems are smarter than I am, and I learn by reading them. They also cover a lot of time. In one of them I lament turning forty. The tragic throb of my “mature” voice blends into the analytical lyricism of my later voice without offering any guidance to the reader. One shrugs.