BEGIN. Have you heard the story of the family of friends who drove north, north, woods, through the woods, through the pines, through the desert layer, the mare found dying, dehydrated, water pouring out of its stomach, She sits down, out the car, its dark in the desert, the water glows through the hand, touch its stomach, let the vines grow over, something binding in the hand, the mountains rise in the distance in the desert at night And yet here, flying, above, like athousand golden butterflies, but gold is now an .. they are the color of the hope and trust of the american people, they are bondless, the gold standard is now past, now we live for trust, trust on a stolen land, faith in a dictatorial people, even the teachers here spill venom, sometimes, but they are also lost in it, as... A portrait of a therapist is simply a portrait of oneself. A therapist is my father. D