Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?
—Henry Ward Beecher, 1813-1887

Too right, Henry.

I've been tinkering with the poems written at MacDowell. I'm feeling brave enough now, and might even be back to my old declivities of how I view the nuts and bolts of writing out a poem. MacDowell really turned me upside down and did a number on me.

Strange it is to read this work, now that almost three months has passed. It was written in such a white-hot rush—and I could not see to edit it. And still it needs more poems. It is still not complete. Two dozen more pieces, perhaps, to fit the jigsaw puzzle.

Tiny, tentative steps.