"I buried my father in the sky. Since then birds clean and comb him every morning pull blanket up to his chin night. I underground. ladders only climb down all earth has become a house whose rooms are hours doors stand open at evening receiving guest after guest. Sometimes see past them tables spread for wedding feast. heart. Now he grows me strange son little root who won’t drink milk pale foot sunk unheard-of night clock spring newly wet fire grape parent future wine son fruit of own ransom with life."