These are the first two, of four books of poetry, written in the immediate aftermath of my son, Ryan’s death at eighteen. His suicide was intentional, as it was witnessed, and to this day still seems impossible. It warranted a minor article in the Washington Post, but bore no notice save that he was one more troubled young man at a public institution. Later Virginia Tech was to be necklaced with a far larger misery. Ryan was meteoric in his spirit. He lifted those around him effortlessly with love, affection and wicked humor. All life is precious, but the gifted among us seem more so, like their survival means our own, yet Ryan’s was a too-common tragedy. His intelligence is a difficult loss to measure. It drove the writing of these poems as did the need to tell his story.