  marriage hand for the son of the widow baltimore,  1991 this is the shallow side of night one false hop and you are prone to flying and only this morning a V of black birds dropped down into the yard and you woke with them,  came back for them pulled out of another dream of your hand gone brown the cells have stopped remaking themselves and the hand is dead,  your hand no more than your heart it's the same heart you started with the same hand you have locked yourself into,  you use the memory of this to weight you against the fairness of the birds' landing against the true threat of flight.
