Does anyone still paint by numbers? I once made a fine pair of canvases––birch trees on a stream rippled by dabs of white. I
They walked down the beach toward the wide sea together, my two teenage boys. Getting smaller with the distance until, at the water’s lapping
1 My son is standing in the driveway, trying to talk with Mary, his ex, who’s taking their kids to St. Louis, eight hours
The moon, in the middle of September’s drive-by, rises large and orange and gibbous, a word meaning humpbacked, as in bactrian moon, buffalo moon.