I have pieced together a world-view, as we all must, which allows easily for the atrocities we can point at of course the boat of Somali refugees gunned down by an apache helicopter the sharp pricks of friend and scoutmaster suicides even the shamelessunending ache of losing that one yellow bird and not ever knowingadmitting why but knowingadmitting full well that I'm not coming back from that one, not quite but sometimes i let slip this view for a moment let go the safety of a bigger self my face pretends its not and see the planets as lost children in the ultimate night, finding impossibly through that dark dark cold, a fire blazing, drawing them near and like a father, not too near but all the more worshipworthy for that aloof inability to let you in all the way and isnt there something to be said for that archetypal sunfather that lets us be in this deathvacuum when he could so easily not