We ask liturgical questions, why must the dead pretend they are anything else, here in the depths of the world where we have waited so long? We resemble our former selves, only shadows now, constructing chalk outlines of the world which has gone on without us
When he breaks through we watch in awe, chalk outlined arms raised, like children who must be helped into
He has found a little stream, dips his feet into the water away from all the others. When I ask him about all he has lost, he shrugs as if to say
But he has new friends now, even among the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren of his erstwhile wife.
He recites these my-life-for-yours words as if the man who wrote them had written them for him…
….He that is first in his own cause seemeth just; but his neighbour cometh and searcheth him.  The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the mighty.  A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city: and their contentions are like the bars of a castle.  A man’s belly shall be satisfied with the fruit of his mouth; and with the increase of his lips shall he be filled.  Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.  Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing , and obtaineth favour of the Lord .  The poor useth intreaties; but the rich answereth roughly. 24] A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly:
…there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.