...

The sun is climbing over St. Adelbert's bell, His finger's deep in my hair while melting yesterdays snow. Yesterday in yellow heels in Holland I kissed Jesus with my laughter because it is only real if it is in Him and honesty is like a kiss on the lips so I can kiss Jesus with real laughter and so I kiss Him also in the morning, wrapped in His invisible arms on the couch who's cushions move if you move - my forehead on Danny's shoulder. It's different when you repent there, childlike in your Father's embrace and you began, Jesus, to rip the scales off of my clouded but radiant eyes in showing me that I need to stop being so adult in my burden, not so childish in my fear, and yet childlike in my faith.

Ernest Hemingway is speaking about a dolphin without fire or salt, and I am thinking about Danny's smiling wrinkles, and Michael is openeyed at the ceiling with a pile of rice and peppermint tea and Stephen Speak's is singing about being out of his league. Sirens are somewhere, on Leonard? 11th Street? I am neither sick, nor scared, nor at sea eating raw dolphin, the sun is climbing over St. Adalbert's crown, his fingers deep in my hair while melting yesterday's snow.