#125

Sarah's radio to Stephen: "You can go to the East to find your inner hemisphere." And so they do, one and one again. But for Stephen, who remains. The sun rises on the earth as it rises over Zoar. And the winged watches from his vantage in the clouds. There is the Schuylkill reaching past its bank. And through the woods of Saint Augustine runs Sarai.

26 chapters God has written now. And his finger in the ink for the next. As comes this grand July, I measure curtains, colored cinnamon draped calm against the office wall. I trudge through words, abusing: "geniusis" and "sinthesispect." My mother, my librarian. For the first time, for this third of nines, we will charge her with the task. Of trees and blooms and rhizomes. Winds and pests and beasts of prey. The son total of what's been made of the author's work. The carry all of sin and what's to come.