I find, after all these years, I am a believer— I believe what the thunder and lightning have to say; I believe that dreams are real, and that death has two reprisals; I believe that dead leaves and black water fill my heart.
No, I just can’t write today, I said to myself, sprawling on the couch, my mind an open invitation to sleep, when there it was: The Invisible Hand. A title. Having arrived unbidden, it felt like inspiration,