There's not much that's different here,
and now is not the time for me to
make distinctions. I know not the
day, nor the hour, and I am dazed.
On one side of my bicameral brain
resides Paul Bowles, with his wife,
I think, as well. On the other side -
a hemisphere shall we call it? -
resides James Merrill; or someone
very much like him. Poetic aftermath,
11th street bombing, his father's old
home, and where he was a kid as
well. So, wow. What does a Merrill
Lynch, if a Merrill is lynching?
And anyway, there's enough sand
here for the hourglass I'm holding,
and you, and you. We each get one,
with the sand running out. And yet.
And yet. In the continuation of the
aftermath of Life, perhaps we flip
it over and go again. One life,
many sands. So sweet.