to see you there in the sun, shining with your best smile, not in fact gone forever, waving off my question, delighted with my delight, sitting bony on my lap, which you would never have done in life, my proper friend, my neglected familiar. So this is how it’s going to be, this angry gratitude, this torment of the taken- for-granted? Speak me a sonnet about Darwin and daguerreotypes and this time I’ll try not to wake to the raw dazzle of morning. for Claudia
4 Responses to What a Rush