We watched news reports about Hurricane Isaac as it churned over Plaquemines Parish and spun toward the oil refineries of Baton Rouge. I flew to San Francisco to get the rest of my stuff to bring back to Monroe, glad the scab of purple clouds which covered the moon the night before didn’t mean my flight was canceled. Two friends, one in the Bay Area and the other in Istanbul, hoped I was safe and my sister called to make sure I called her back. You found a pink morning glory growing at the side of the house and we both wondered how flowers might look winding around the utility pole, drank a dark beer at the airport and talked about how the beige rock columns had been fit together with the careful eye of a stone mason. You go back to the doctor next week. I found a picture of a guitar that wraps around the hip of whomever plays it, and each day I come closer toward serving my purpose.