19 September 2008. Sun and shadow, for once. Push of dawn, bank of opaque pool windows to east--now glowing gray. Javed at eight, dark jacket on bike, watchcap, glower...heading home.
Los cuatro vascos, otra vez. Dependably themselves. But why? A consciousness, perhaps, of something tight and old--like worn brown shoes, or a wooden wheel in a deep rut, or the clasp of the foot of a sparrow on a twisted branch. Agarrar: to seize. An old word. As in Ipousteguy or Abarrategul--chunks of sound, like the rocky cliffs in northern Spain--peninsular--limestone and chalk, buried deep in the earth...
¿ Dónde está mi corazón,
que se fue tras la esperanza?
Tengo miedo que la noche
me deje también sin alma...
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