Cracked brick, her mouth is in tethers. All this nonsense, he says, for one moment of hang time. I hid beneath the bed while she cried and he panted, you could not have remembered that. A chair in a room, leather bound, empty, and explicitly without use. She questions the shirt he has chosen to wear. He listens while dozing off but still manages something profound. Curled up into a ball, she laughs. And my son, while my son falls off high places and smiles like the dawn only belongs to him.