In eulogies the word “Panama” was never mentioned.
—David McCullough
When you are a father, want sons. There is some math in this.
The informal garden starts gently, with a geranium border & gnarled
pear tree. A highway runs behind the garden. The informal garden
is a homeland for broken harps. There is a moment of dead air,
a bright string between the brain & lung. The unknown death is better
than the current death. Trees stroking the throat of a hot blue sky.
