Here's another Barbara Guest poem I've transcribed from her voice recording. When the book comes out I'll be able to compare my lineation with the poem on the page:

THE NEXT FLOOR

Ours become young days
morning wrapped in reality
its heel turns a corner
where the game is played
sensitive to the murmur outdoors

I fold you in a warm fleece
Here is its corner
It will hide you until daybreak

Some
smithies, ironworks, lattices to the next floor
we are climbing
The urge enters to see more
destiny peers upward into a new

stanza
resting in
nearest haywick
adding up, taking away

Of what use are
stanzas in the dark
ragamuffin?