He casts me off like a lead necklace. He is lighter, you can tell.
He is gentler with his children.
He can smile.
He is horny.
Things are not so bleak for him, after all. He can see the end of the tunnel,
after crawling through serrated darkness for so long.
I am lighter, too. I feel that I have just dumped the last chewed corpse out of the rowboat.
There is one oar only, but it is rusted, iron married to iron:
both oar and lock will disintegrate if pulled apart.
Unlike us.
I am drifting alone with my oar, watching the clouds conspire on the horizon.
I, too, am lighter.
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