yesterday in that boy's office i lost all track of time staring at the floor. which seemed more vivid, in the small space between his shoe & mine. i don't know how long i sat there : you would have to ask him.
are you flying yet? you should be : i should pray.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:just now: i closed my eyes for a second. i opened them again & everything was blurry & i could not see.
it fades up again.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i just realized as i was writing to her that i do not know where i want to live. this isn't really important, it isn't important, but the realization, the putting-it-to-words, makes me feel suddenly completely alienated, spinning, rootless.
as if any second i could be lifted up out of this chair, out of that window, over those houses where the immigrants live & sit out on the tall stoops into the late hours sometimes singing.
