My father worships in the cathedral of the eye the ancient memory box falls open the stored pictures crisp as cellophane
He loved himself intensely, loved his eyes, the sleepy mellow droop of his eyelids neatly creased at the corners. Satisfied, calm, he took the
Dear Postmaster: My mailbox is still full of bees & I still have not gotten any letters since September 10, 1979. How do you