12th: Rare for me not to have that last-night-before-I-leave
final, cowardly thought that I don’t wish to go to sleep in an alien bed
and even though I fumbled with the airport tax machine,
anticipation that I will cope remained full strength
13th: And fully justified because I wake up with a smile in Alabama
cocooned in warmly welcome and so easy to be here.
14th: Both anticipation of the end of day, the smaller widened circle
tempered with regret that we must leave this place.
15th: Waking in a bedroom with my daughter
last seen last month on a station in Berlin.
16th: A second day of writers, more new faces to set beside their words,
reading, writing all together, eating too and then so very, very late to bed
and absolutely clueless as to what time I might awake.
17th: Knowledge that today I leave for home lies heavy,
staggered though the parting is.
A day begun with Highland Park and ending with a Maker’s Mark.
18th: A day bereft that doesn’t really seem to properly exist
flying high and heading east across the Atlantic