What Do You Do When You're No

The Vestibule Door Opens Onto A June Morning So Fine And Scrubbed Classira Pauses At The Threshold As She Would At The Edge Of A Pool, Watching The Turquoise Water Lapping At The Tiles, The Liquid Nets Of Sun Wavering In The Blue Depths. As If Standing At The Edge Of A Pool She Delays For A Moment The Plunge, The Quick Membrane Of Chill, The Plain Shock Of Immersion.

I Seem To Produce A Novel Approximately Once Every Three Years.

Silly Humans. Banging On A Tub To Make A Bear Dance When We Would Move The Stars To Pity.

Venture Too Far For Love, She Tells Herself, And You Renounce Citizenship In The Country You've Made For Yourself.

Here Is The World, And You Live In It, And Are Grateful. You Try To Be Grateful.