There are kinks in some of the logic, so we brush aside the moths and try to work them out. Are we alive or dead? In the desert, the prison, or the belly of our first baby? Are we in trouble with the law? Are we criminals? You make a list with a small icon for each item. Alive, we are stick figures, holding hands. Dead, we are stick figures with a waving line instead of legs and feet. The desert is a cactus and a row of toes. Prison is a row of bars and a spiraling moth. The belly of our first baby is undrawn. The law is a horse and buggy and a question mark. Criminals is a loaded gun. You’re thinking and tapping your pen against your teeth and the paper. I look around and it is stunning. I’m not sure how to say it, so I go ahead and say it. We’re home I say, and a panther lifts its paws from the latches at our window.