March 25, 2016 by
Photography by Bill Sitzmann


Covered in lives

And streaked with assignations and carrots on buns and snails and fine wine and fruit in vodka jars as large as your darling’s eyes spying on you from that perfect angle across the room

(M. baked a cake once an amaretto cake a cake so soaked I was drunk in a bite and happy and amazed by the flavors of her life)

Back steps down to more


Ruts tread into the wood as deep as the Oregon trail down into an underworld worthy of Orpheus and furtive sounds and hidden rooms and back up again into the urgent fragrances of conversations just beyond understanding and


Reflecting you back to you

And then, yes, we know, fire and smoke and shouts and hoses and nothing nothing that could stop the offering to the January sky and the cathedral of memory takes flight and lands here and there as cinders locking away tiny atoms of the secrets and


Like all the mirrors melted and gathered on the stone

A new mirror

I still see myself there once and once again

All my old friends and my M.


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