There is a man making bubbles by the Archibald fountain in the park — a street entertainer drawn here by the crowds. In this place at the…
There is a dead rosemary growing out of the Cafe table, dried silvery and leaning. It’s a victim of the vogue for indoor greening. Planted in…
For Nat, 4 years old
I read to him most nights. His freckled abandonment to life now absorbed in other worlds, eyes searching…