To Live With           

Already we see him. Hello. My dad, that loosener, always at the

phone, listening

to who-fore felt to him very akin. Longinus, or his mother. To the

shore!

That didn’t help. He later, I hear, thinks we—the family he tossed off

—are

temporary. I—a young one—will not finish out the joy of that spring.

He had luck.