One
(WINDOW: Castor and Pollux and the Lioness)
Secular and Gnostic at once. I didn’t know her, but we went out a set of doors at the same time and she began to talk. Half native for sure, and half something else. Grown up, risen up, taught up, in America. Travelled. Cosmopolitan. Not pretentious purposely, just saying things like, This is not of paramount importance. Private schools and she had cut her (adult teeth at the least) on things like languages, business acumen, and Paris. That’s okay. Everyone is just a person under the layers. Lonesome. Uncomfortable at lonesomeness because it did not fit her M.O. Non-artistic fashion model. It’s going to pour buckets, one says, but it’s not remembered which, and I LOVE the rain, love it when it is like this. Yet, it held off for a time. Talk. That easy quick talk foiled against a sky threatening to let go itself, a wild libation from an aerial glass. There was a window behind where we sat. It witnessed a destiny meeting. I don’t go in for crowds. Her raiment was a perfect jacket for the weather, and below, a type of deck shoe. Crowds went past, chanting songs, wearing the same t-shirts. A controlled and willful mob. We noticed that both of us wore our own clothing. Is that a match of love? The ones born under her star have a white electrical fleck, a thing of wonder, which flickers in the eye. I met a drug addict once that knew about such an esoteric thing. He mentioned it before I did while talking about another. Anyhow, the rains let out and we laughed, like in a movie or book, and then caught ourselves and stopped. That was normal and whether cosmopolitan or artistic, mediocrity was the enemy. But the rain coming and the upper sounds like trains crashing through constellations. Castor and Pollux and the Lioness by the window, falling into something like kismet.
