I feel some of Franz Wright's poems from his previous books can closely describe who I am, if anything can ever really describe a person well. What I mean is that I have found in his work what I look for or try to create or have in everything I do. Whether it is with whom I choose to keep near me to how I spend an aimless afternoon to how I swivel my neck. I can live in his head. Or perhaps I have been living in his head. Or perhaps our heads have been living in the same town. That can change anytime of course. I can read this new book of poems and just not connect with anything. It's possible that all  there is for me was that. I am hoping it isn't. Even though I desperately want so much to find a new head to live in, I do love where we have been so far. It isn't by common definition, ideal, but it has been a sanctuary. It is time for me to step out, but I still I find myself wanting to crawl back into that cold dark cave. I'm about to open his new book for the first time wondering if we're still on that same path, Franz and me, walking circles around that cold dark cave.