““What does our baby think of the cord sprouting into the whoosh whoosh of my wife’s heartbeat? And does Ramon imagine the lines of seaweed are kite strings stretching into a heaven of water? I see Ramon and our baby looking up, up where stretched-out skin, the roof of the world, lets in the light of day, up where the sun is a ballet of burning coins. The heart — a kite like a bucking bronc straining to break into sky.””