A

Very late, with certain star coveys shuttled down the sky marking the time as after midnight, he heard the shushing of the tall grass parted by her penduluming hips. Her heels tacked soft across the porch, into the house, into the bedroom.

Forgive me but I will continue to speak of myself, who am my unknown self, and in writing I surprise myself a little, for I have discovered that I have a destiny.

I am afraid, then, of myself, who knows how to paint horror, I, creature of echoing caverns that I am, and I suffocate because I am word and also its echo.

I am beforehand, I am almost, I am never. And all of this I gained by ceasing to love you.

I live a void that is also called fullness. Not having, fills me with blessings.

Just imagine it was raining and I remembered you.