Gouged from Gods thumb my minds eye closed, and my mother coughed a bastard to birch her with catkin. Blessed be the son who sang the lords prayer, coughed at amen; as the priest showed him heaven and a wet paisley handkerchief. Father wore our secret dressed beneath my eyes and Mother seamed for Jesus, Dog collars for devils drinking horlicks who read me Corinthians as I wet fresh cotton. Fathers Abstract stained windows of lead, shining on a darkness kept quiet in dove feathers he died that night at peace in bed.