City of infinite shiverings, twilit, un-carapaced, face to face. Human beings lived that way. In the museum of our rights we see how it was done, suspended like circus flyers: carnal; blessed; reaching; reached. Hope and remembrance for the rest. All time is eaten up by thoughts of time. I like good sir to think we live in an age when love is rising. Here in my city, in the gray of early morning I see your faces again, there in the irresolute, agitated dark.