Michael Fried, 6 February 2003
To be nothing but fire not even the fuel that feeds it
wasn’t my father’s style. When the time came for him to die
(of a cirrhotic liver caused by poisoned blood
flushed through him one winter dawn to fight a bleeding ulcer)
he found a stone wall with, at its base, a tunnel
just too narrow to admit a man. Undaunted he crawled through
hand over hand to the other side.