father, i feel i can’t go on. can’t muster, nor marshal. can’t raise the troops and the standard was stole in the very early morning. without it morale sags on all fronts and i am without a single sound idea for how stem the tide.

father. i’m clear as glass and at least as fragile. it isn’t till you come so close that your own lies are told you. we start off dark and rich, like deep green wine glass & we rub against it till we’re fine and clear and just, just as break-able.

father,  i’m hope & fear. weak knee’d & crook backed. i’m bluster & sere. expectation and need. stone-sand and everything forgotten.

father, i feel i can’t go on.