Karl, I say, I'm going crazy. I have to have a plan. Karl, I say, once when I was little we were taken by our grandmother to a restored theater in downtown St. Joe. We saw a travel film. First the velvet, the hush. And then we were somewhere overseas. An ancient city. Sunlight. Sea. Karl, I say, my father about to leave us, my mother wearily but beautifully making sure we saw his mother. Karl, I say, so much of the film was sky. Karl, I say, I'm at a stoplight and our oldest--I don't even see her get her camera out it's become just another motion of her body--Karl, I say, she wants to see what I cannot see.