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was lovely to walk those steep streets at dawn. We felt absurdly safe. In the US, everything unfolds as if onstage. Curtains open onto moons that glimmer in the ocean over the rooftops of colonial houses, wood gables, white fences, and porches with swings that sit invitingly empty.
I’ve been thinking of myself as place, you know? The body as place? The body as metaphor for a place traveled, or a life’s cartography—with all its marks, signposts, and islands.
our fingers linger in places that are bitter scented and moist.
