I missed the morning sunlight trying to decide if I really knew that “here is one hand,”
and now, as raindrops trickle down on my reflection in the window, all I can think about
is the disembodied lady and how much she differed from health faddists and the ones
on a megavitamin craze who were heavily overdosing on pyridoxine in the eighties.
And then a question struck me: was that reflection actually all we were granted?
hidden pilcrow 