#117

Memorium. End, and such, and then begin. Affection's landmarks drawn in light. See them, see? The weight of heaven's span. Of course. Full stop. Full stop. Full stop. The weak. Sara leaves the City, locks the door. Sean is bowed, abrupt, at last. John to British tower, steepless, flaccid. And Valerie's joys of everyday life subsiding. Stephen is finished, is Lycidas, is Coral. He is Icarus, says Sean of what sinks.

Memento. On the morning of day 7, the opening image of Andy's hand, reaching for Stephen, crumpled, disheveled. A Rittenhouse bench (and its plaque?). Two coffees, and one detoured: a gift. "You look like you need it more than Benjy." Day 4, Little Pete's - Stephen and Sqaure and Cory. "Why not just wait, like my parents did? There's bound to be more sin to wash off after childhood." Stephen's brow descends. Cory is solemn, silent. And Day 3, replacing David, Blake. At Chapterhouse, his photographs. The show's title a line from Keats. Adrian supplied. "Had I a man's fair form . . ." And Sarah's simple watercolors intermingled there. The windows frame upon arrival: Blake laughs, head tilts, his hair a sea of golden waves in sun.

Morire. It rains. It falls. The year begins for me in June. I read Augustine and do not like him. I suffer hunger, suffer thirst, and desire. Resolved. Resolute. And at night. Erica begrudges another dark evening at home. But will I no more seek the festival lamps and clamor? Dance and laughter. It is no light thing to toss all that aside - and it would be embarassing to have to return to it.