I’m seven months into this thing I am still naming. Much more myself, as in, able to again measure the correct amount of disappearance. I’ve never been a sudden being. I know there are poems I need to fix. The book of hiatus isn’t real, which makes it hard to transcribe. My daughter’s been in Ireland since last August. I am sorry that some of my year has taken some of hers. There are some reminders. I tire easily. The poems need broken. I mean to have other more wayward words for your detoured art. I forget forgetting’s mistake. Anyway, thank you. It seems I didn’t lose anything long enough for it to go missing.
kingsoftrain 
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