It was a warm September evening.

Nothing was both new and perfect.

We saw their lives in the hospices that were their lives.

Each sat at rest as pure and massy gold.

Each had the dignity of her concept.

Some stood erect, planted on one foot, showing the face, and with hand high and fingers joyous.

In others the face is turned, the arms folded, and the feet joined.

Each one mounted her proper action.

Some were seated, others on one knee, others lying.

Some were nude and others part nude and part clothed.

The movements of the city were made known in the moments of bodies.

Care and thought weighed so heavily.

We speak here as an architect.
 
 
 

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Lisa Robertson
 

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