I start in the direction toward old
town, pigeons in my wake. Imagine futures
emerging in mimetic desire, children
Return to the fog, finding the seams Become smaller each passing year. I stop
of the oscillation, where it begins in a deli and ask if they can help me
pulling us back from the start find my husband. My who? In an instant
That familiar pulse of shame. Desire to
forget what was said. Knowing the distance
between us will only grow. I want to