Head low to the table, Saz groups and divides a family of capers with a tiny trident. Saz is a swollen Neptune. My little children, says Saz. All small things are my children — to me they are, I mean. Saz is wrapped in silver. One earring hangs like a plumb-bob above the table. We imagine it wanting it, aching to drop.
2020-05-13 coup d'œil