THE YEAR OF MY ABSENCE a number of stones under my feet had faces the skin of my palms was made of glass hermits kept crawling out of their caves holding out their hands for oreos this is not what I intended to say however I must stand by it and what of the tall bellflower standing in the garden of speech? and what of Joe Pye's cure for yellow fever? I must endure the indignity of what's said and with even a dog's luck I could hang on a little or a lot longer though it disturbs me that I wake myself screaming what's my deductible