Nothing kind is lost here. It only goes on ahead, one
hand to the next, and each person has only to not let
it fall. I could not carry it far myself. So I gave it
away and trusted my neighbors to carry it the rest
of the road, however long the road turned out to be.
I don't know how I knew what was coming. Maybe I
didn't. Maybe I only guessed, the way old women
guess. But I thought some children of this town
would one day be drowning, not in the river, in
themselves, and I thought that if the town were
asked, it would go out into the dark for them. It did.
You did.
So don't build me anything. Don't ask who I was. Ask
instead who is going under near you now, and put
out your hand.
The fare is paid. The door is green. Come home.