Lonesomeness. Morandi, Cezanne, it's all about lonesomeness. And Rothko. Especially Rothko. - Charles Wright

I write your name for the last time in this mist,
White breath on the windowpane,
And watch it vanish. No, it stays there.

That I isn't I anymore. It's someone else, the character who plays me, someone who's a better actor than I could ever be. I'm just the writer. Someone else is starring in my part. I remember him just well enough to try to write about him. A case of the negative sublime. I guess art's always after the fact. The real is imaginary, or imagined. Reconstitution, reconstruction, representation is all we're left with. Autobiography becomes biography in the end.

All those nights looking up at the sky, wanting to be there, away from the grief of being here.