Волны

           IsitthatImayhavechildren,maycastaflingofseedwider,beyondthisgeneration,thisdoom-encircledpopulation,shufflingeachotherinendlesscompetitionalongthestreet?Mydaughtersshallcomehere,inothersummers;mysonsshallturnnewfields.Hencewearenotraindrops,soondriedbythewind;wemakegardensblowandforestsroar;wecomeupdifferently,foreverandever.This,then,servestoexplainmyconfidence,mycentralstability,otherwisesomonstrouslyabsurdasIbreastthestreamofthiscrowdedthoroughfare,makingalwaysapassageformyselfbetweenpeople’sbodies,takingadvantageofsafemomentstocross.Itisnotvanity;forIamemptiedofambition;Idonotremembermyspecialgifts,oridiosyncrasy,orthemarksIbearonmyperson;eyes,noseormouth.Iamnot,atthismoment,myself.

           ’Yetbehold,itreturns.Onecannotextinguishthatpersistentsmell.Itstealsinthroughsomecrackinthestructure--one’sidentity.Iamnotpartofthestreet--no,Iobservethestreet.Onesplitsoff,therefore.Forinstance,upthatbackstreetagirlstandswaiting;forwhom?Aromanticstory.Onthewallofthatshopisfixedasmallcrane,andforwhatreason,Iask,wasthatcranefixedthere?andinventapurpleladyswelling,circumambient,hauledfromabarouchelandaubyaperspiringhusbandsometimeinthesixties.Agrotesquestory.Thatis,Iamanaturalcoinerofwords,ablowerofbubblesthroughonethingandanother.