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5 T e a L e av e s I begin to feel I’ve invented you; you make a good fiction, all winks and wittiness. I try to focus on the mundane beauty actually here: soap bars hanging in the neighbor’s garden to keep out the deer, traffic hissing in the distance, the sun butter-slicking the clouds as it sets, sky pinking up like a newly healed limb. Yet I notice portents, as in those few moments at dusk when it’s not exactly dark yet, but amid the trees and houses, the few lights available call attention to themselves: gas lamp, streetlight, small lantern in the landscaping. The numbers on the driveway, rearranged, are your address instead. This is how it goes. ...

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