I’ve been looking into windows hoping no one can seewho I’ve become. My grandfather wrote me from the bridgehe jumped from. The news came when the lights clickedout in the form of a blaring phone that lasted ten months.One cousin wanted to be a name slipping out of the mouthsof idle workers. To be a tagline and nothing else. He flewto a terrible city where people get wrecked and somehowgo on living. Tremendous apertures, thinning parties.In the story the oven is never full of childrenbut the threat is real, the house lights blank out,the storm hasn't come. There is a fox with the knowledgeof everything trying to arrive in time, a sparrow and the sparrowshe can’t kill. No one knows what to make of the new worldso they call it old. The story is long and told to keep childrenfrom wandering. You know it. My cousin has never seen a foxbut has one tattooed over his heart, stupid organ. This is whatthe best generals knew: you can’t bury a bone without buryingthe body, can’t leap from a cliff without becoming pure air.It’s old and hollow but I would like to say something to you.I saw a group of children once and didn’t think the world newor old or terrible. It was Tuesday and everyone was talkingabout the future. They said the eagles had it. That it was for the hungrymouths. There was a desert we were walking toand didn’t even know it. There was a kingdomin which we’d some day beg. My grandfatherwas no angel. I’ll admit I once caught him kissing a pictureof a woman he didn’t know. After he left, I looked for herin the corners of things. Not even the absence of the absenceof angel. The smart money is on the weather not the horse, he'd say.Sometimes I smile when I mean something else entirely.The dock fills with boats and I can hardly explain this luck.