Books covered every available surface and much of the floor. Leah loved books more than she loved anything in the world, but this . . . this seemed like a sickness, like an infestation of words.

Now I’m no longer the buzzards glooming over the mango tree. Now I’m the fuzzy orange sunbeam glazing the buzzards’ shoulders.

The sun starts its strain, rupturing through clouds, melting dusts of snow. My shadow appears and disappears in front of me

Lost when they let me out
Just my welding gun
So I went down to the
    shipyard
Where it all began