Line from a dream this morning: "There glides into place/ a phenomenous race/ of pseudo breakers and Bee keepers"
Woke up at 3 am and wrote of the previous day:
The day as far a as it went. Heaven sent. Bob Moon is the way it ended. (Ed: Bob Dylan's birthday, full moon) The way it began was with yoga and pushups and gardenscapes. Then cheerios with apples and cinnamon and hugs all around. Then school where there was cake and crème brûlée gelato. I taught classes on black swan green by David Mitchell. It was fire. They did a meta essay on the difference between a secret that should go public vs one that should stay private. Meanwhile I caught up on my grading and after, more gelato. Then I came home and read the New Yorker and took a nap. I spent some time today working on next Emily Dickinson poem, F719. Every one is a thrill. Walk with Genevieve to take Beatrix home. Pizza in the park for Fridays in the park. Talk to Nancy and Paul. Read Nancy's 100 word story. Listen to Paul's amazing story about The Prisoner. He will stay in the castle! Then off to Schupback gardens where we sang many songs by The Beach Boys, and Jerry Jeff Walker and the Beatles and Neil Young, with Arthur and Lenny and Jamie and Quinn. Holy singing under the full Bob moon, while singing "It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to cry" at the very moment an LIRR train rolls by and blows it's whistle. So elevated. Gabe depressed, over text, over the state of the world. Played tennis with another Gabriel and won. Felt good on the court, healthy at 55. Alive happy to be. Music and poetry and teaching and novels and singing and friends and wife and daughters I love and parents still alive. In the zone. Allegra prone. Burnt pop corn smell as I try to sleep. But first this burst of memory. I love you.
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