My son finds occupation br in almost nothing, in everything: br my soapy penitential toothpaste, br his mother's loosened hair br orts, containers, useless things; br watches as I pee br as at Victoria Falls, br once pushed his head between my knees br to risk some sort of baptism. br br Before his birth I thought br I had room for no more love: br now when he (say) hurts himself br love, consideration, care br (copies from the originals) br as if burst inside me. br br Undoggedly I interest myself br in his uninteresting concerns, br grow backward to him, br more than hoping to find br a forward interest for myself.