And once again I wish it were the past
and I were joking with Marie-Geneviève
in her cluttered car… she, still alive,
cat yowling on the back seat, with our dest-
ination, Pénestin, the sea, at last
close by. She’d stretch canvas at night, engrave
draw surreal seas. A double vitrail she gave
me’s over my bed, at home…. Where’s home? A list
follows, places that were, or felt as if…
Manhattan, north London, Hamra, le Marais ..
If I could go somewhere, where would I go?
Up to the 6th floor of the rue Barrault?
The Tah Marbuta garden? Or just stay
here, fan whirring overhead, one more hot day?
 
Fan whirring overhead. One more hot day,
dependent on ‘devices’ with their pass-
...