Коллекционер

           Likelyingonone’sbackaswedidinSpainwhenwesleptoutlookingupbetweenthefig-branchesintothestar-corridors,thegreatseasandoceansofstars.Knowingwhatitwastobeinauniverse.

           Icried.Insilence.

           Attheendhesaid,nowcanIgotobed?Gently,makingfunofmealittlebit,bringingmebacktoearth.AndIwent.Idon’tthinkwesaidanything.Ican’tremember.Hehadhislittledrysmile,hecouldseeIwasmoved.

           Hisperfecttact.

           Iwouldhavegonetobedwithhimthatnight.Ifhehadasked.Ifhehadcomeandkissedme.

           Notforhissake,butforbeingalive’s.

           November1st

           Anewmonth,andnewluck.Thetunnelideakeepsnaggingatme,butthedifficultytillnowhasbeensomethingtodigtheconcreteoutwith.ThenyesterdayasIwasdoingmyprison-exerciseintheoutercellarIsawanail.Abigoldone,downagainstthewallinthefarcorner.IdroppedmyhandkerchiefsothatIcouldgetacloserlook.Icouldn’tpickitup,hewatchesmesoclosely.Andit’sawkwardwithboundhands.Thentoday,whenIwasbythenail(healwayssitsonthestepsup),Isaid(Ididitonpurpose)runandgetmeacigarette.They’reonthechairbythedoor.Ofcoursehewouldn’t.Hesaid,what’sthegame?

           I’llstayhere,Iwon’tmove.

           Whydon’tyougetthemyourself?

           BecausesometimesIliketorememberthedayswhenmenwerenicetome.That’sall.

           Ididn’tthinkitwouldwork.Butitdid.