While I think of them they are growing rare
after the distances they have followed
all the way to the end for the first time
Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
Pricks His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—
My father, affectionately known
by his sons as Doodles, took up painting-by-the-numbers.
His vision of blue jays hung over the toilet to be
reckoned with by any urinating male.
Smith frames: Tomoko Uemura in Her Bath
The mother cradles Tomoko, her misshapen daughter.
Light through a dark window.
A post-modern pietà.
Yesterday afternoon when I got home from the hospital and booted my computer, I was overwhelmed by the thousands of people who sent me messages of love and encouragement after my recent health scare.