Vincenz Serrano



the narrative; planning thwarts possibilities. We’ll make love in my room, in a hotel room in the business district, in a room in a resort in the country. What makes a sentence luminous: the arrival of possibility­, as if it were a guest long­awaited but denied passage, now finally walking through the door. The violinist looks at the pianist; notes rise up from the lobby and thwart the glint of chandeliers. I can’t settle here; I will show you the place from which I cannot depart. They blessed us with their arrival, they elevated the low roofs of our minds, so they say; we called it an invasion, the opposite of music. The bombed colonial buildings on one side, the gutted Spanish­-style houses on the other. We

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