3:15 a.m.     argosy, 2905 elm street

dear bernadette,

as for the original experiment, maybe i have too much on my mind. certainly i am exhausted and certainly i love to think by the light of this alleyway streetlight with the low ocean of the railyards beneath. i feel ponderous. there's a possum who walks through our yard nightly, fearless, or perhaps too blind to know to be scared. the scuffle of feet under the corrugated fence. i wake immediately thinking, perhaps destructively so; though it's all around me, i sense the sleep receding when i sit up, a small clearing or pod in the nocturnal other consciousness. then again, in the morning i never recall a single word. i think of the lost 3:15 from 1994 as the beginning of some kind of demise, the frayed end of a long string of what-ifs. august orders the years into a succession i'm not sure i believe in. i would have written you a song but tunes aren't easy to come by in the night. the rounded airstream windows provide instant romance to any view, not just framing but stylizing. tomorrow (today) we install the drawers in the cabinets and affix the countertops. every day monumental and utterly insignificant. i haven't swum in a lake in years, but i recall the gold dust floating in the creek as if it were yesterday, which in a manner of speaking it was.

                                        love,

                                             jen