Your children are whole. They are not in pieces. They are the brilliance-flecked ocean teeming with life. They are strong like bone and absorbent. Your children manufacture glue from the splinters of tearducts all swolled up with the heaviness and breathiness of living. They are panting, they are zigzagged, they are substantial as stones, their chins slicked with the juices of life. Your children know the intimate pulpmeat of the heart and proudly glisten upon a swiftly tilting planet. Your children love you. Be the trampoline for their rocketing and the cupped palms for their returning.