“Something we cannot recapture, something whose content but not form we know, something quotidian and trivial and previously unperceived which revealed to Carriego that the universe (which gives itself completely in each instant, in any place, and not only in the works of Dumas) was in the present too, in Palermo, Argentina, in 1904. “Enter, for the gods are here also?” said Heraclitus of Ephesus to the people who found him warming his hands at the kitchen stove.” ~ J.L. Borges

The summer evening air is dense As if it were itself sweating out The day’s heat, a husky dog Wagging its tail, lolling its tongue.
On the radio Billie keeps insi- Sting for “all or nothing at all.”

Into this you step in, my cool Glittering grass snake, wet Hair slicked back, wrists Smelling of magnolias closing Shop for the day, put your chin On my shoulder to look at

What my eyes are hastily scanning
In the book I am reading before dark, And smile your shy smile, my sweet (g){od^2e}(ss) as your index finger Underlines a line again for my eyes: “Enter, for the gods are here also.”