i am on the other side of the street.  i look through the blinds.

i see vanja.  could it be vanja?

that was twenty years ago.  i loved her very much.

very much.  we were both difficult.

the doorbell rang three times that day.  i felt anxious.

there was never anyone in the hallway.  maybe it was this face.  i know that

certain faces inhabit the body more than others.

i could not control his body.  he did what he wanted.

he had to look at his reflection.  

i just couldn't handle him alone.  not even for a day.

adele and chantal.  they wander, yet they are with me always.

the next day seemed preordained.  into the night.  the finger pointed this way.  that way.  i followed.

the instrument of time.  

only the instrument of time.

the ball bounced down the hallway.  there was something intentional about it.

 the street was so dark. one lamp lit the eye on the door.  the eye of course looked only at me.   

tonight i will walk the streets of the earth alone.

the coins are for luck.

i was always mesmerized by katy's sign in the window.  this would be the night
of the miracle of truth.  the man did come out of the shadows of the
enormous library and he did abruptly remove his mustache.  i did end
up at the three deuces dancing on tabletops.  57th street.  1948.

what i saw... the hand sign told me to see the palmist.

i was hesitant.  the hand wasn't.  it moved.  swiveled?
now it was palm and palm.  the palms were stacked.
were the odds against them?

the word was beyond the flesh.  as if there was a heaven above,
the hand slipped yet reached for it.  the weight of the world.

what was i seeing?  i could no longer make sense of it?

through the crack in my door,  i saw three men come down
the staircase that night.  all night.  in a ten minute span.
the rest was quiet and still.    

outside, the neon liquor sign had four steps to darkness.

then the cycle would begin again.  i looked out the window.

it was evening, and the few people on the street below seemed lost.  

i, too, was disheartened by the face i had been given that day.  there was always tomorrow.

i used to tell you what was on the insides of my eyelids.
 squid when they darted, spaceships when they flew by.

all this talk of memory.  it gives me pause.

there is no present.  time is in the past

they say my memory changes each time i think of my bride.

i didn't see the ghost in dresden.  they say i never saw it!

i misremembered cutting through a showgirl's metal bustier
with a can-opener. 

i'll take my memory neat.  never a doubt.  we
had two children in the 30's.  just the four of us.