To the Author of Glare

    There comes a time when the story turns into twenty

    different stories and soon after that he academy of shadows

    retreats to the cave of a solitary¹ boy in a thriving

    metropolis² where no one remembers the original story

    whic is， of course， a sign of its great success： to be forgotten

    implies you were once known， and that is something we

    can prize more than the gesture greater than the achievement：

    but I wander from the main point： the main point is one

    among many fine dots so fine you need a microscope to see them

    but then they multiply like germs： the work of the deepest cells

    is ergonomically incorrect， but effective nevertheless， like

    my footprints in the snow leading to you， wou would be my father

    if this were a dream and I on the verge³ of waking up somewhere

    other than home： but the hours remain ours， though they

    were gone almost as soon as they arrived， hat and coat in hand.