In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

A Quality of Light Two women in their twenties do a drunken waltz. One wears a black dress, opalescent under the afternoon's ultraviolet, & the other is in a seethrough sheath, curved against the weak cloth, crying, "Oh, is the Pope here? Is he? Is he here?" Four motorcycle cops speed to a halt in shiny leather & chrome glare. She moves to a music we touch in ourselves sometimes, with her friend shadowing her like a halfforgotten thought. The sky gleams off pails filled with fresh-cut flowers. Shopkeepers leave unbagged apples & uncrated pears to ripen in their sweet skins. N EON Italian, Spanish, Greek. Her white dress sways in the heat, merging with the Pope's robe like metaphysics & flesh. Innocence, vulgarity, temptation, spectacle, or what? Hours later in bed, I strain to hear him say the word Peace from his bulletproof Popemobil, but only the moon peers around a corner of the windowshade , transparent as the dress, like a page held up to sunlight till it burns. V ERN A C U L A R ...

Share