And Yet You Are All

My Students Know I Have A Life, They Know I've Written About My Life. They Know Some Detail, Probably More Than They Know About Their Physics Teacher, But I Would've Told Them Anyway!

That Nothing - Not Booze, Not Love, Not Sex, Not Work, Not Moving From State To State - Will Make The Past Disappear.

And So I Am Feeling Numb. It's A Curious Feeling, And I Get It All The Time. My Attention To The World Around Me Disappears, And Something Starts To Hum Inside My Head. Far Off, Voices Try To Bump Up Against Me, But I Repel Them. My Ears Fill Up With Water And I Focus On The Humming In My Head.

I Had A Love Affair With Books, With Characters And Their Words. Books Kept Me Company. When The Voices Of The Book Faded, As With The Last Long Chord Of A Record, The Back Cover Crinkling Closed, I Could Swear I Heard A Door Click Shut.

In Our Absence, The Violet Early Evening Light Pours In The Bay Window, Filling The Still Room Like Water Poured Into A Glass. The Glass Is Delicate. The Thin, Tight Surface Of The Liquid Light Trembles. But It Does Not Break. Time Does Not Pass. Not Yet.