Saturday. This morning two turkeys wandered the front yard while I scrambled eggs. I did the crossword puzzle and listened to podcasts, refilled my antidepressant prescription and returned my library books. Someone in Pittsburgh felt he had to kill Jews, so went to a synagogue and did so.
I’m wearing a warm black sweater, as if the dark itself were comforting me.
There’s nothing left to do but write poetry.
rain all day
a sharpened knife