This comeback feels like opening a narrow crack in the door of a stagnant closet. Where are the words I was looking for? What is this pile of old letters arranged one after the other? Where do they come from? Perplexed, I don’t recognize them at all. I have to look at dates to cast a bridge towards this shallow past and I realize how much time went wasted in this interval.
The wind molests the blinds after the sun has turned its back to the east. Tubular bells — real? — prattling on in the distance.