Another afternoon nap-- longer sunbeams that caress my books instead of blind my pale slightly shattered eyes-- the cat is sound asleep below the green glowed window full of plants. I can't not see a Levertov poem whenever I see that sill now. It's fitting that she ended her life in Washington State. Where all the evenings glow green and shell pink and some of the days as well. Her green-lit poetry in place. Next time I'm home maybe I'll visit her grave. But Seattle makes me mad, especially the East Side and I think that's where she's buried. Anyways, I appreciate her lack of interest in blue. Everyone is always pushing blue on me but it just reminds me of computer screens and evil corporations' logos. I like my greens and oranges, shells and reds.