A manuscript has spontaneously taken shape/occurred. It makes me realize that a year plus of frustrated, overwrought pieces, stops and starts, nothing that went together but each poem saddled as the first in a manuscript-length series was futile. Giving up writing poems altogether and writing daily, concrete jaunts with no looking back for connection has, it seems now glancing over my shoulder, shown some things resting well side by side, cohering most quantumly.