My residency at Civitella Ranieri was like stepping outside of time. Used to writing in the city, I loved the slow, open pace of the place. I was productive, yes, but tuned out of the urban pressure to be productive. The compulsion to check email and social media quickly fell away and I became present there, found a rhythm. Every morning I could walk outside my studio to the secret garden, have an espresso and see green hills for miles—and think inside that vastness. The food was a dream: my mind got clearer, and I felt healthier as the days progressed. In the evenings, I got to know brilliant artists from around the world, talk over Sagrantino. The weekly group excursions to surrounding towns gave me a sense of the history of the region and provided necessary little breaks from my work. By the end of the residency, I had written ten new poems and revised a few already in progress. I accomplished in six weeks what would normally take about six months. More important, I could feel my mode of composition start to transform, turn in a new direction, because I had such concentrated time. And I felt more relaxed than I had in many years.