A Light in the Back of the Basement

I keep my time with old things these days, poems and stories, diaries and journals, photographs and a lampshade;  a rescued trove of writing held to the worn and fading light of journey and memory and another day; the chaos of a crazier mind, the energy of taxi cab dreams, the callings of a younger man, fishermen off the Albion shore.

A Collection Of These Things

                                                                               When you ask me how to do it
How to make it make sense
Break the words in a Poem
So as to make them less dense

Virtual Robert Levin

We sat in my car parked by the beach at Todd’s Point smoking a joint; this was Mendocino after all. I had brought Robert the book of photographs we’d produced after he’d moved into the nursing home. He was pleased with the quality of the photographs.