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+/ K_\>efd\Xe[@:XkZ_;Xne After memory there is now. —Beckian Fritz Goldberg I am confused to find myself at a loss in this damp garden beside a ceramic gnome, whom I appear to have known for years. The two of us just standing there dumbstruck in the mulch, watching the sunrise ignite windowpane. We can’t help but stare, barefoot and silent as neighbors in flannel pajamas gathered at a house fire. What was there yesterday, today is gone, vanished before our eyes. So we wait for someone familiar to call out from the burning, for Aurora to remind us of our slippers, of the pink grapefruit lobotomized and glistening on the breakfast table, of the rolled newspaper already sweating its plastic sheath somewhere in the overgrown lawn. ...

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