When what you write about is what you see, what do you write about when it’s dark? from “32 - Charles Wright

Lo que queda es con lo que empiezas.

"Waterfalls"

Is it age, is it lack of adoration, is it
Regret there’s no ladder to the clouds?
Whatever, we inhabit the quotidian, as we must,
While somewhere behind our backs,
waterfalls tumble and keep on going
Into the deep desire of distance.

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.