packing a bag

I'm ready to begin writing again. Winter is leaving, making room for song and poetry in my bones. The last eighteen pages of journal include: a blind contour of Andy at the pulpit, some math, a description of a smell on my jeans, the titles of a few Rauschenberg and Twombly paintings, documentation of a recent NYC trip, something funny Carlee said, and a thought about hand-clapping. Sure there's more.

I moved again (see photographs below).

I'm getting back in the habit of packing a bag and heading downtown; lunch, camera and a foul-weather coat - because I never know how long I'll be gone for. I walk to work. On cold mornings I keep my hands in my pockets. When it's warm I read John. I've learned all the sidewalks and I don't trip like I used to.