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

57 Often She’d Drop into Fathomless Always I thought mother looking out the window meant elsewhere meant longing for self-wisps rippled in glass and in the grass across the tracks beyond that. I didn’t know until you mother could be me, looking out the window could be this, third-person glancing it: joy so whole she only hems it like a guest. ...

Share