She fathomed that autumn would always be better upon the frosted tips of grass falling; sand from a bucket, children’s hands too much. If anything she says she wears her dress a bit shorter.

My father’s boots damp every morning. He can barely walk now; he walks, but very slowly. I remember us first working together. I am told I must keep working. Too many tongues, kidneys, stout little men, midwives and knees and come yes I am coming.

This morning I asked for cream. I arrived as my little lion has awoken. I kiss her saying- she says to stop asking what is wrong. I ask because I want her to be happy. She smiles, her cheeks like egg yolks.

But the sun has barely risen to kiss the tops of all the roofs still sleeping.

Like a heavy cloud I fist saw her floating, but it has been so long, time a sleeping oyster under a sea of pestilent chords.

Like children remember all that was not or was nothing never as the mist of the bay melts into the skyline.