I have clarified myself, she thinks, become as pale and frictionless as water, not unlike the small white flower he brought to that woman, something infinitely tender and thus as strong as wire in its impossible independence. I first set foot in this city thirty years ago and although to all appearances I have come and go several times since, the truth is I have never left here. I am like the memory of someone in a hotel mirror, the half naked girl you glimpse in passing from the closet to the telephone. When you return you can no longer see her, though thereafter she is never gone. | |||
Awaiting the first turn we perhaps imagine the garden a knotted awareness looping in on itself, race cars like sunflowers receding ( a pun here?) in unbearable sunlight and noise. |
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