It doesn’t feel like a lie to say that I have lived several full lives in recent months. And though I don’t know how to connect them, I guess I remain the thread. The most recent life was an amazing one. It was in Vermont, in the mountains, where all the buildings are egg-yellow or white. It goes by the name: Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference.

The name had been legend to me before I ever knew what it was all about and then, somehow, I had the blessing of being a waiter during this year’s conference. I met incredible people who are also incredible writers. I chatted with my idols. I played a concert with the incredible Alicia Jo Rabins, Ed Skoog and Chris Tarry. I imbibed plenty and slept little. I waited tables and I waited tables. I wandered. I listened to more good readings in ten days than ever before. I gave the best reading of my life to date. I missed my family. I want to go back.

Yusef Kumunyakaa was the poetry divining rod in workshop, cocking his head slowly to the side, smiling, saying, “yeah, I think that is the line. Yeah.” He even gave me the first blurb for my future boat shop when I told him my plans: He stomped his foot on the ground made famous by Robert Frost, looked me in the eye, head atlit, and said, “Now that, now that’s damn interesting.”

Oh long lives the calendar calls short! I guess there is nothing I can truly complain about. Here is a brand new poem draft (of ten minutes ago). It will vanish soon:

****gone****