Mallory tells me last night that on Shabbos I mentioned I ought to email you–“in passing” was the phrase she used. An odd choice of words, it suddenly seems. Oddly intuitive. We exchanged words merely three weeks ago. I had just finished Roth’s Mercy of a Rude Stream. Thanks for that (both sarcastic and sincere). You said it’d be at least another month before we could tell how the treatments were going. I sent you poems in place of the prayers we inherited. The last one about cicadas: “[they] follow everywhere I could never grasp / at dawn they remind me / catch light / catch light / shed.”
Thank you, Paul Lyons, for your wisdom and generosity. Thank you endlessly.