There was confusion on my end. I thought Jesus was bringing the five bean salad. I thought the war had ended. I thought I limped on the left side. I thought the cloud a Lamborghini and got in. I thought the zoo deserved a hacksaw. I thought the tree had climbed the boy. I thought the grenade a potato and ate it. I thought Francis Bacon was painting my heart. I thought bears would stop us from killing the oceans. I thought pole dancing had made a comeback. I thought the Decency Party would offer a full slate of candidates. I thought the snow fort a metaphor for the womb of public housing. I thought Zen Buddhism would beat the New York football Giants. I thought San Francisco a roller coaster and screamed whee into the ear of noon. I thought you were alive when I packed an extra pair of socks. I thought you were alive when I realized “manumit” was two down on the plane. I thought you were alive when I asked a mutual bartender how you were. I thought you were alive even when I peed Sam Adams a first time after being told you were dead. But I thought the war had ended. I thought the half-moon was winking at me. I thought cabernet on the roof with two of your ex wives a lovely funeral ten years too late with jumping at the end into the pool the only way to prove I’d paid attention to the jump shot with a second left you’d always tried to be. I thought a good, steady rain would bring us to our senses. But five thousand years into the flood, I just don’t know.