I wrote on my dream softball team--Ezra Pound as catcher, T.S. Eliot as pitcher and way out in left field, Allen Ginsburg. I had woman players as well, though Barbara Guest was more interested in picking daisies than gathering fly balls. Sylvia Plath held down second base. Of couse Lorna Dee Cervates was my home run hitter. She feeds me. John and I are regulars in the Church of the Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen Writers Workshop. We had some new comers, including a lovely young woman from a shelter who said that every birthday she writes a letter to herself. Not to communicate is death, Anais Nin wrote. I truly believe her.