She had never known her father to even read poems, let alone write them, but there were dozens of them. Classically styled love sonnets, a few examples of haiku, and free-verse ramblings about love, memories, regret, despair, and loneliness. Farrah saw that she was the subject of every one of them.“Oh Daddy, what have I done to you?” Farrah sobbed. She put the book back on the mantle and went up to her father's room.He lay there in his bed, shirtless, and tangled in the covers. His scalp. I kept looking at the flimsy garment as if it were asnake coiling about my ribs preparing to crush me. The fact that it wasdark red made it look even more dangerous, but at the same time I almostfelt like I was being hugged.I looked again in the mirror. It was as if someone was switching apicture on and off, not quite a man, not quite a woman, man, woman, man,woman...."Snap out of it hon."I heard Abbie's voice and jumped. "You're really getting into this youknow." She laughed, "I guess I am not. Mark pulled out his pocket binoculars and took a look.The cobblestone walkway led to a much higher stairwell at the northern vertex, one that connected to high walkways that came back along the hexagon walls at a height of about ten meters. The walkways were flat shelves without guardrails, and ended in the second branch of the spiraling staircase far above and just behind them. Mark re-entered the bottom of the stairwell and stared into the chamber they would come to if they made the journey. Driven to add something to the lonely room, I continued my oration. ‘Cold eyes to warm, soft flesh to flush, I only love you more when you blush.’ I liked that, the way it rolled off my tongue. ‘Quiet to shake, stillness to quake…’ No, something was wrong. Intuiting it after a few moments, I tried again. ‘Quiet to break, stillness to quake, I long to hold you when you shake.’ Perfect. I glanced at the clock. Barely a minute had passed and still I was alone. I racked my brain for something to.
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