around your neck. I will sew room into it to grow between its covers, a space for your own remembering. Here is a beginning: my brother was almost named Seth; writing this, it is dark the icicles are glowing and look like glue holding the gutter to the roof. When I came to Ohio, my father said I was returning home. Sometimes, the squirrels fall out of the trees into the yard; three is also a perfect number.
92 I BRYAN NARENDORF