We think you might be sending
Friedrich mixed messages, Janice.
We’d like you to stop contacting him.
If he needs anything, he’ll reach out,
and then you can reach out,
and the sun and moon will reach down
their light, and the rain reach its rain,
and life will go on reaching, imploring,
and feeling its way forward through time;
and that is the end of your picture
book, Janice, here in the middle
of our way. Caught on a rain-lashed
peninsula, poised atop a deck chair,
reading night-time words to a wee one,
both of you drenched, nothing
can get in the way now, Janice.
The future is yours to embargo.
• • •