Faithful and Virtuous Night

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My story begins very simply: I could speak and I was happy.

Or: I could speak, thus I was happy.

Or: I was happy, thus speaking.

I was like a bright light passing through a dark room.

If it is so difficult to begin, imagine what it will be to end—

On my bed, sheets printed with colored sailboats

conveying, simultaneously, visions of adventure (in the form of exploration)

and sensations of gentle rocking, as of a cradle.

Spring, and the curtains flutter.

Breezes enter the room, bringing the first insects.

A sound of buzzing like the sound of prayers.

Constituent

memories of a large memory.

Points of clarity in a mist, intermittently visible,

like a lighthouse whose one task

is to emit a signal.

But what really is the point of the lighthouse?

This is north, it says.

Not: I am your safe harbor.

Much to his annoyance, I shared this room with my older brother.

To punish me for existing, he kept me awake, reading