perhaps if I could see you
I can recover nothing. The city is already an endlessly fragmenting dream, endlessly reconstructing itself. The lime cliff of Minnet Saba crumbles into the side-streets of tall pastel-coloured apartments around Chenaniaguine. The waters of the Aqualate Pond lap about the base of Cold Walls, while at the same time–or at least in a continuous instant–the Entreflex, that beautifully-drawn but meaningless white symbol, stands in the distance above the city asking a question in a language we are forgetting even as we look. Churches of all denominations form themselves suddenly out of the fountains by an open air cafe. Old machines are discovered trembling with attention & anxiety in a toy wood between major avenues. As for you & me, we were bitten by insects somewhere between Uranium Street & the Horse Museum; you bought a yellow notebook which you never wrote in. For years I’ve kept these fragments floating around one another–it’s such an effort–attracted into patterns less by the order in which they occurred or by any “story” I can make about them than by gravity or animal magnetism. But I have no memory at all of the experience as it fell out. Perhaps if I could see you, I’d remember more.