June 18th, 2006



Midnight passes, and one o'clock, and then fragments of houses begin to appear. The half moon is clearing the treetops. A dimly lit curtained window, long isolate, some floating ghost, is joined by a chimney, then a white brow of eave, and at last is captured by a wall which has emerged to place not only this vague fenestration but the surrounding darkness which has long been without depth. Other bits of darkness are redefined- unlit windows that were concealed are now framed by pale form. The hidden interiors of houses watch me from across the gray street.

The moon, I know, reveals so little, and yet enough for me to find my way not stumbling to the deserted road's verge where I can look back and see, dimly, the rooftop and jagged silhouettes of trees, and the rising moon itself, and my own facade as yet dark but for the pale, curtained windows. The night will end before the moon can reach that dark wall, and it will be exposed by common daylight as dull and without mystery. Even not knowing what lay within that house, I think I'd turn my gaze to the moonlit west, or to the sky where small clouds now throng, set with rare stars. Everything in the world lies outside that place to which I return reluctantly, thinking only how desire plays through the vast world like moonbeams through woodland paths.

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