More on: daughter

A family lives here, here things are a bit wild, yes, I’m trying to maintain, give me grace, please, look, there’s beauty in the attempt—and all of this is not only the subject matter of the yard, but the aesthetic, let’s call it, an aesthetic of too-muchness, or, as in a line from a poem I jotted down in my commonplace book, “the is-ful ah!-nesses of things.”

Yesterday our children, playing / in a tree, watched as the tiniest bird / fell from above them, / where it belonged, / to land below them, / where it did not.