I forgot to mention the sound of trains -- you hear them all the time in my neighborhood. I live within spitting distance from the Metro, but it's not just Metro trains that travel those tracks. The night is filled with the iron and steel weight of passage North. I know in a few months, I will no longer hear the sound of the trains, [because you never hear repetitive noises after while] but for now, they remain present.

This morning I drove down to my old school - the George Washington University to meet with an old Professor and to scour the library for books on H.D. It was wonderful. The library is STOCKED by the way. I found everything I was looking for without having lean on consortium. It was also wonderful to reconnect with one of the professors who really encouraged me to become a poet. He caught me up on all of the gossip and gave me a few contacts to pursue in regards to publication, teaching etc. The meeting eased my mind a little. I've been feeling as if I'm about to go back underwater for a long time -- taking on a new job -- and have been afraid I will be in a place where I will no longer have time to write or work on my dissertation. It's a necessary submerging - we need the money. But, meeting with him, somehow, made me feel better about it all. Just talking about poetry and poetics and to people who care about poetry and poetics makes me feel better.

There goes another train -- it's slow moving and feels emense.

From H.D.:

When I am a cup
lifted up,
can you hear
echo in a seashell?