You’ll have to find me,
At the end of the process.
I’ve left a silken thread
Tied to my head.
I want you to find it,
And wind it forward.
Around one wrist like tehilim.
And read me back,
To myself when we’re done.
One step closer.
To fact than fiction.
I’ll be walking in art,
While I’m away.
Try to see it my way.
Think of what you are saying.
I’m only watching,
Your mouth annunciate me.
I’ll be walking in foreign streets,
Among other people.
Thinking of the end,
Of the twentieth century,
That we lived through endlessly.