25 October 2007. Filtered sun, just like always. October. Two double-red brake-lights peaking from beneath extra-long horizontal run of Glacier Ice Company truck--a white tractor-trailer with its own amber flasher. Prongy blue geo mountain, scrap of white paint for snow, sign-painter script with one swoopy capital--the G. Bags of ice on iron pallet, lowered on plate of welted steel. It's going back up now, the workman trucker leaning casually against side of lift, one foot up, looking off into the mist.
Lost Distance--the planned poem book with Leonard. Two quasi-Chinamen. Someday, perhaps.
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