Robes of Fire

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210/ dressed in robes of fire, as Gabriel, as Ginsberg— the spirit descends, leans, and whispers poetry, tongue and words buzzing my ear— •

Setting Brendan in his car seat this morning he notices the waning crescent moon directly overhead. “It’s broken,” he says pointing upwards. “Daddy, moon broke.” His two year old voice heavy with a tone of worry.

I say, “Well, maybe Granddad will fix it for you.”

He smiles. “Yes, Granddad fix moon.” Everything resolved. Problem erased.