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The Score One puts on one's white socks, one by one, expecting the geraniums to stay put in the storm, stay red in black weather, saying nothing. One puts on one's white shoes, hearing the far uninterrupted alarms of children as one ties them, puts one's feet together, opens the door and passes the plants one favored once and potted, five by five. One knows one's places, seconds the sea's slant on things, wants the love one believes is native to harm. Accountably reaching the cliff, one will unaccountably dive. Upon reflection, one will be two, racing into each other's arms. 9* ...

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