he left on tiptoe feetcame with noise of laughing friend-voices, bursts of orange-red-yellowsunlight, slap-cracking screen doorsleft once, returned and left andcame back again,muffled in velvet Paisleylike soft confusion,he went.try to tell him, just try,it’s not the leaving that hurts,it’s the continual return,coming back and being had,of sand once white now strewn withentwined arms and legs Read more