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.”