Look she said this is not the distance



we wanted to stay at—We wanted to get



close, very close. But what



is the way in again? And is it







too late? She could hear the actions



rushing past—but they are on



another track. And in the silence,



or whatever it is that follows,







there was still the buzzing: motes, spores,



aftereffects and whatnot recalled the morning after.



Then the thickness you can’t get past called waiting.







Then the you, whoever you are, peering down to see if it’s



done yet.



Then just the look on things being looked-at.



Then just the look of things being seen.﻿





