He takes his socks off last before he slips into the comfort of the water- robe he thought he lost in the belly of his mother
Not many things will shine in the dark, reflecting love, a light you can’t see yourself, a light you can barely tell is there, veiled in umber tones of mahogany.
...the same as when we found a hollow wasp lying silenced on the front porch, its wings outstretched as if it might again fly. Curiosity took hold of my sister and, poking the wasp with the freshly painted nail of her finger, the wasp adhered.
...as if each toss called to you across the surface. The china, glistening white and scattered, appeared ordered on the far bank. When the stars looked down that night they reminded me of what we all are — fissures of white cast across a cosmic mud.