Harry Smith exhausted 3 A.M. over Chinese take-out supper. Car had backed into him up on 12th Street corner Avenue A weeks earlier, compression-fractured his knee, so he stayed with me nine months in small room behind him he’d fixed with door-latch and lock. Old postcard of Manhattan Island on toilet door panel to his right. Ethnomusicologic archivist, film-maker, alchemist, he’d designed my new _Collected Poems_ book cover, he’d been moved out of hotel room on 28’th Street, lived in Bowery shelters, was now homeless in New York! June 17, 1985.