And I said to him, we are continuous, And whatever the self is, it is never As we would consider, so I don’t believe the possibility Of speaking too much of it; and he says to me, Continuous, exactly, with what? What about the body: something is always pulling at it —gravity, responsibility, the life after this one. My siblings and I don’t speak to each other As much as we used to. When one of us calls, we talk About the care of our father, our aunts, and then We talk about the children. In the pauses, we acknowledge How different from each other we’ve become, And each of us somehow considers how much We miss the way things briefly were.