My first night at E. 12th my impression was I had decamped here for weeks, months. Tub in the kitchen will be finessed, a foyer, walled in packed bookshelves, a studio workroom off the foyer filled with files of graphics and drafts, a large emptied bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, large, no curtains, just windows and walls with decades of paint peeled, peeling. My bedroom is perfect as it is, futon, a damp sprig of pine in a ceramic bowl, one or two books in a stack in-process. I knew the poets in the building, a few famous, many pre-famous. It will all be familiar backdrop in a newer craft, hazarding and giving.