I finished Priscilla Becker's Internal West a couple of days ago. She has the same immediate and profound effect that Louise Gluck has on me. It took me three sittings to finish it. Emotions kept washing me away.
I'm also in the middle of Franz Wright's God's Silence, and contemplating how perfect it is when he begins the poem "Lines Written in the Dark Illegible Next Day" with "Apple alone in a bowl."
Yesterday, I took Frank Stanford's The Light the Dead See to keep me company while I sat on a couch in a bridal shop and watched Jojo try on prom dresses.
Tom's home from college for the summer, coming and going like a cat, at will. He made it back this morning in time to show Gene his two new earrings and explain the details of how his friends pierced his ears. Gene called me later to tell me about the dead coyote he saw on the side of the road.