Before they were born—I shrink to admit this— whenever I thought of my kids getting sick or being injured or dying, I thought mostly of the chances of my winding up in jail. Now they’re in …

I don’t mind your boring the fuck out of me. Backbone tucked behind the curtains of my lungs, I, my day rid completely of logistics, sit—and watch a maple seed screw its way down.

A special commission looked into                          my lungs, crystal chandelier of swifts, a city, like Lwow, built                          around a …