My Daughter Is A Fantastic

It Was Love, Of Course, Though I Didn't Know It Then And Finn Was Both Its Subject And Object. He Accepted Love Instinctively, Without Responsibility Or Conditions, Like A Wild Thing Glimpsed Through Trees.

Such A Courageous Boy I Was. To Act Brazenly Under Scrutiny And Risk Further Injury To My Wounded Heart. Ah, The Resilience, The Blind, Dumb Persistence Of Youth.

Life Is Absolutely Horrific, Leading Up To Absolute Horror.

I Didn't Seem To Have That Effect On Anyone But It Would Have Been A Waste For Both Of Us To Be Saints.

It's Not That He Lacked Poetry. But His Poetry Was Of The Body, Not The Mind. He Spoke It In The Way He Moved, The Way He Held A Hammer, Rowed A Boat, Built A Fire. I, On The Other Hand, Was Like A Brain In A Box, A Beating Heart In A Coal Scuttle.