On remote Norton Island off the coast of Maine less than a month after my father died the moon has yet to practice this particular loss I must have seen it quartered like this before, but this waning after

The sand sloshes beneath his boots, lacking the satisfying crunch of childhood memory, a youth shaped by churning tides demarking a terrain too bitterly humid for daytime habitation. As the town grew increasingly nocturnal, his parents ventured out only