The wind sprang and finally sounded so near, it seemed we could almost see our hearts. We heard the whistle of thought, but she quickly passed us, too far away to see or hear.

Bookending our VHS library In the basement closet, beside ski suits, Is our family’s one-man Capuchin Crypt, A skull Dad kept from med school that just sits, Waiting to be played with, bored, unburied.