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Saturday, we go to our cabin in Canada. Brendan hands<br />
me a small piece of a bone from Max. Together, John and<br />
I drop it into Charleston lake.<br />
Monday Sept. 6th, Tuesday Sept. 7th: staying very quiet the whole time; images come<br />
and go; the words appear and settle on the page; there are no changes, no corrections:<br />
it's "Unfinished," as is Max and his story.<br />
I didn't share it with Meg&Ivan til yesterday - when I sent it to myself by mistake (?).<br />
Meg replied, "It's a lovely poem, Mom. Leave it as it is."
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