You are like a leaky row boat pretending to be a raincoat. I am straight-forward: self-confessedly undependable because my right arm overrules my left, just like my brain. Life within a fortress within a life in an arc of motion, oh Russian doll. How to be the years we have? I’m thinking of love. I’m planning to make up the truth: this end-stage sunset, that baby landscape. I’m thinking of laying down slabs of stone across the lawn, big feet of heaven, whole kingdoms. Feng Shui my way: a cadre of rubber alligators protect my door. It’s not as though we can pick up every shell on the beach, but there’s often something nesting in the nest of the bird in the hand. One day I just stepped out of the boat. Relief like a flood I tell you.