i can't even read the news now. all i want to do is think of him. the day before he died i started reading mount analogue while i was reading the dispossessed, which now is too much like sad news. there's only so much sadness we can bear, now it's enough, just enough, thinking about mister. my sadness, my celebration. the library is still closed, and the lake. half of the people are still wearing masks. the bookstore hand delivered my second book, drifts, two days ago, and the first book i ordered a month ago, came yesterday. so mister is gone, and there are flowers and books coming. some things are opening, some may stay closed. i think i will open, with caution, slowly. i think of him now in spring—to sleep with flowers. and i'll take a book outside, probably mount analogue, the book i started reading the day before he died—to sleep with books. to dream awake, after all this time we went together as in a dream. i think every thing i can find with love and appreciation will keep me alive and connected to him. for he is all things.