There is a particular way in which My home’s petunias glow Early on summer mornings That gives the sun a somehow Heightened sense of power: Power to turn these small flowers— Purple petals open as if to Catch the light, or maybe release it— Into stars of their own kind

Moonlight traveled through every crack and crevice of the city as dogs howled in the streets and people moaned through every open window. Life reached through the city’s fissures yet nothing substantial came out the other sides. The ones who had moved away said that people came here to die, years after their brothers, sisters, husbands, or wives faded away. There was nowhere else to go. At least nobody bothered each other.

This was the day my useless life was brought to the world. I, Wayne Toole, was born. My life was good when I was young, my father loved me more than words could ever imagine, and as for my mother, she loved me too.