It was a warm September evening.

It contained old men, youths, boys, matrons, girls, domestic animals, dogs, birds, horses, buildings and provinces.

They were properly arranged.

Our technique was based on experience, not desire.

This was an ecology of distances.

We couldn’t read them in the beautiful way.

What bodies want these buildings?

What do the shoulder, the wrist, the neck, in their various flexures desire?

What does mortal flexure want?

As a form of modest ornament, we wish to articulate transitions.

We saw the stranger’s wrist in the sugary light.

The soul is outside.
 
 
 

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Lisa Robertson
 

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