A Writer's Notebook, Day Eight-Hundred-And-Twenty-Eight

Four years ago, when the last inauguration occurred, I was in Delray at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival.  This year, of course, it is being held online, and I so wish I could spend this time with that community in a deeper sense.  It feels strange to have this transition and be in this strange quasi-festival.  There is a part of me that is on edge because of it, because the cycle is incomplete.  It feels as if a door that was opened was closed wrong, somehow, though I know that is only my perspective, my own desire for certain kind of repetition.  I suppose it is natural I should feel that way, that I should want the ending to rhyme more exactly with that first line.

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