What I lack now is focus. Ease of thought. How to clear the mind. Leave what troubles you behind. I am not particularly good at this. Now reading poems—too many poems. Clear your mind. Waking in the Aegean, blue walls and blue linen, the poem itself bobbing alone on the Riverbend, two fabrics touching at its surface. Many records of this. It is hard to trust, hard to build again, uncertain always to move through the wrack—in a way that is sometimes difficult for me even to appreciate. But I would like to do it, to attain its ease. (The ease of ease.) Close my eyes. Breathe deeply. Sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t—some strategies, like box breathing, remind me of whatever it is I am trying to forget. Oh well. What doesn’t?

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