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[85] E A RT H D AY After the warning dream, you put your life in order, arrange to give away the dog, your only mourner, buy the cemetery plot. Your skin is soft, the years kind. You’re ready for anything but this death, who arrives looking sexy and cool as the cellist on the upper west side you loved for his indifference. Your eyes meet over wine, dark as a dying father’s blood. Younger with each step, you invite him up, turn back the sheets of silk. Starker plays Bach on the stereo, the Suite in G for cello, unaccompanied. ...

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