Dawn animal, why don’t you come out now and have a nice cuppa? I am reading the obituaries, strenuously, which is what one does to get ready. I am counting the fissures in my egg. We could go to the islands, the netherworld full of coral, and have our portraits painted in feathers and mud?I know this betokens a kinship too rickety, or even sizzling, for you. Mammoths walked there a decade ago, lonely, tottering along the channels. They looked at their thumbs and shrugged. They took out their brains and hurled them into the reefs. Fm holding a crust of bread in my palm, I see our initials rising from the lithosphere, a couple of pinpoints of utility needed elsewhere, and I remember how to cry, and I remember you, my last kin.