In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

79 Some Kind of Reckoning A covey of quail are ahead of you on the path, black plumes bobbing and swerving as they switch and pitch their roost under the creosote bush You’re not their family but understand assembly can sometimes help with life’s uncertainty. Around the hour at the horseshoe pond when the duck sleeps in the luminous flux of the moon, you’ll want to know— Is it possible—that one thread, still running through life? And your intentions— were they light, or habit-ridden and held against your future? Real sacrifice, you think, is constituted for love, love weighing everything. The guardian-clouds can no longer be felt, for your desire is in having to know. You stand—defiant, but find nothing until the pink-spotted moth lands on your wrist, and the wren starts singing in your veins. You’re remembering their improvisations—more than sufficient. ...

Share