A note on “I live inside this house that is my world costume” The ones she loved are the ones that never came back. One of the ones she loved said letters written on top of each other could be the concept offensive. She asked if it was their touching. Was it that? Or the form they made. Was it that? She never recovered her sense of reason. She yelled at the sounds in her sleep. Dusk and crepuscular crying and the dew that wasn’t dew that covered the part of the fruit that wasn’t eaten.