It beat down through the glass doors last night when I read, in a circle of warmth and spotlight dust, new poems, dawning, halfway through, that I had never heard them aloud. I don't usually take risks like that. I don't usually do a lot of things. Afterward I could not stop shaking, despite his coat.
The radiators are kicking. They're bringing in wood. The world is waking up.
This is a preview of what it will be.
