My first memories are of water. A lone fishing cabin off the coast of a lake on a cold high-winded December morning. Above, purple geese ride the sky. On the horizon, something dissolves. A man speaks to me from below the water, then broken glass scatters green all over the shore and an eye stares back at another eye. A mother cuts up her son. A father turns blood into water. Shrimpers work their trawls pulling up six-legged garfish, only mildly human. A cormorant dries its wings on a wharf. An explosion, its eye unraveling, leaves a residue of gold. Then another image of my losing arms and legs and regaining them momentarily…dolphins begin to sing and take me out far into the sea, to the very edge of the sea.