In the embrace on the corner you will recognize br someone’s going away somewhere. It’s always so. br I live between two truths br like a neon light trembling in br an empty hall. My heart collects br more and more people, since they’re not here anymore. br It’s always so. One fourth of our waking hours br is spent in blinking. We forget br things even before we lose them – br the calligraphy notebook, for instance. br Nothing’s ever new. The bus br seat is always warm. br Last words are carried over br like oblique buckets to an ordinary summer fire. br The same will happen all over again tomorrow— br the face, before it vanishes from the photo, br will lose the wrinkles. When someone goes away br everything that’s been done comes back.