Total attention: cats’ to a bird beating by the fire escape Pointed entirely and unlike my own fish-floppy mind bent up like this. What’s missing from my poems, I was thinking. Came up with love and devotion — and the house is so cold today, and I have a cold and daren’t bathe. Hair is dirty. Is poetry a diary? Or a report? on what? The state of the moment? The mind of the moment? The Mind of the Moment — what is she telling me now? “Go eat your grapefruit, honey.”