We got to know each other. We spread out. Gather and disperse. Somewhere in the future. At some moment in the past.
In the spring rain, the roses bloom at the top of the building. When will I return to watch the tide in Zhejiang?
No one recognizes the broken mango shoes, and the number of cherry blossoms I stepped on.
A companion volume to "Glass. July 34th". . . Pit. . But I'll try my best to update. . .