And also on how she will not be mentioned past this sentence.
Instead, on the State Fair I visited tonight.
On how I photographed it endlessly a year ago, made many images that still quicken my heart (thank you, Chris Marker)
on how tonight I had to force myself to take a single photograph.
On how the loss of desire doesn't mean loss at all but gain of something stronger
and on how sometimes we say that because it's overwhelming to think about desire as something loseable.
On how many chances you miss. To know things, to document, to remember, to look the other direction.
On looking the other direction.
On where you parked the car and how it had to do with architecture and an abstract diagonal,
my photo of an empty stadium built against a temporary shrine lit up like a fireworks stand on fire.
How we sit on different chairs. On how chairs face away or to the walls.
How tonight the handmade quilts hung across the I-beam over our heads, on how she noticed what was behind them.
On how I only thought about sleeping beneath them. On not sleeping beneath them.
On how the different things I imagined waged a battle; it was bloody; it disappeared, explained nothing as it dissolved.
I took a self-portrait under the quilt in my sister's spare bedroom. Where is it?
I read an email tonight that I will fight against answering....
Not on these things.
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