Rooting.

There are some things I want to do tomorrow. Such as. Acquire tiny jade plants, little sprigs of green, and plant them in small brightly colored pots. Arrange them on a windowsill. Arrange them on a particular set of windowsills in a space I have not yet occupied. Water them gently but surely and arrange them with my Lake Ontario stones, my poet-colleague-given shells, the ones that reminded her of me because they are all insides and outsides all at once. Put my glass frog into the mix.

Make my life over in the fashion of people whose thoughts manifest themselves in words on paper, not just in more thoughts.

Put a red flower in a clear vase and write by its emanation until I need to get up and take a walk.

Sit still in sunlight until I've filled pages and pages.

Lie to sleep early in the mid-spring nightcool.