Up all night, literally all night, writing furiously, until the thing that jars the clock is the great hulking garbage collecting truck making a 6 AM run and the sudden chirrup of waking-up birds.

This is a line I found this morning: “The new bruised purple world, the milky lucent triumphant sky.” It’s a stranger to me, surely meaning I didn’t so much write it as just let it fall in through the window.