After G. E. Patterson At four, I thought myself a coward for in his eagerness to cure my fear of heights, my father insisted
The sunchokes lean and crowd in the corner of the yard, the teenage girls of my autumn garden, shy in their height and prickly
may appear on the path to enlightenment— don’t confuse amateur photography with a self-portrait in cobalt blue. A little unnerving is good, a trapeze