It is late now, br the red sea of sunset gloves the white aspen– br a figure of hovering grandeur. br br We wanted to linger, br to absorb each other’s languages– br to feel, to be felt and understood. br br We–ordinary we–stepped in opaque silence br and emerged transparent and breathless. br Each an elemental compass. br br At the time there were rituals of continuity br and singlemindedness dividing us into br ourselves and each other. br br At the time we were scalded, discovering br our sensations-disappearing between sweetness br and the result of beginning again. br br Still, it is late now, br the red sea of sunset gloves the white aspen– br the figure of hovering grandeur. (ancient and kind) br br I can count on this. And you. br Because we have creased our future repetitions br and believed in the openendedness of everything.