It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as
i. Blackout, 1990 My grandfather’s neurons are ferrying the story of his body across dark water. But let’s begin with citronella candles, mosquitoes haunting
Shouldn’t you happen in winter, endless cold snap, bitter winds bruising my chapped cheeks? In movies, you are always gray, set in misty graveyards
We should have been eighteen the afternoon we drove almost to Land’s End, where you asked her to marry you. At Cook’s Corner, you