I would find in my travels sometimes bones.  one, in a brown paper bag on a bus bench.  or another, floating beside a bellied fish in a pet store.  as it was key the bones did not enter my thoughts, I began taking an online course about preservation.  I hadn’t expected logging in to make me less of a transient.  the stress of having to remember a password brought forth desperate visions of my daughter being broken by nothing and casted by men who for the sake of visitation had been made peripheral.  the stuttering nature of her struggles wore on me and I had to abandon the bones for these representations of peopled hospital rooms your nostalgic primitives call photos.