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Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves;

And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?

And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?

And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?

—“I Sing the Body Electric”

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

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I stepped through the wall and into hter’s bedroom

She was sleeping contentedly on her side It was before dawn, and the building was quiet The curtains were open, and the sky beyond was black If there were any stars, they were lost to the LA s The curtains were covered with ponies, as was ht switch, a pony bed larow her obsession with ponies, although I secretly hoped not

A girl and her pony, it’s a beautiful thing

I stepped closer to htly toward ht frohting a slightly upturned nose and i eyes Sometimes, when she slept, her closed eyelids fluttered and danced But not tonight Tonight she was sleeping deeply, no doubt drea nice

Or of Barbies and boys and everything in between

I wondered if she ever dreaood or bad? Did she ever wake up sad andher father?

Do you want her to wake up sad?

No, I thought I want her to wake up rested, restored, and full of peace

I stepped away frolided over to the small chair in the corner of her roohter project for the Girl Scouts To her credit, she did most of the work

I sat in it noeringUnsurprisingly, the chair didn’t creak

As I sat,me Her aura, usually blue and streaked with red flames, often reacted to ravitated towardme like I sensed it

As I continued to sit, the lapping red fla the air like solar flares on the surface of the sun My daughter’s aura always reacted this way to nized me, or perhaps it was her soul Or both Either way, from this subconscious state, she would sometimes speak to me, as she did now

“Hi, Daddy”

“Hi, baby,” I said

“Moot hurt real bad”

“Yes, I did”

“Moot killed”

“Moht now, okay?”

“Okay,” she said sleepily “A, Daddy?”

“Yes, baby”

We were quiet and she shifted subtly, lifting her face toward me, her eyes still closed in sleep There was a sound fronored it, but it caain, and then with more consistency I looked overI looked back athow it felt onto re harder and harder to recall

“It’s raining, Daddy,” she said

“Yes”

“Do you live in the rain?”

“No”