Last night’s Mad Men with Burt watching the moon landing under a big Jackson Pollock with his maid,
the same moon landing that my father held me up to the TV to at only a few months old, a holding I swore until I knew better that I remembered being held,
got me thinking about the big paintings,
squinting through the oak trees that limb/limn their way across my whole life, sometimes even falling through my roof like a loosened astronaut
or Don Draper falling off that office building already, what with all the balcony shots all the time.