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  • In memory, everything seems to happen
    to music.

    Tennessee Williams

    The image is of slow, slow dancing, in a small café,
    Lago Maggiore perhaps, or Capri, or Portofino,
    or maybe Athens, Crete or Rhodes…late at night
    soft candles flickering, a light breeze, love songs
    and the words you know so well, the sweet fragrance of jasmine,
    orange blossoms, the night sky embracing its galaxies.

    The image is of a feeling, indefinable and large,
    of something you forgot, but are reclaiming,
    the way you might reclaim a treasured friendship,
    or enter into a new love and the new life it brings,
    when you walk with caution and infinite patience, with prayer
    borrowing from the vaults of dreams and wishes,
    restoring those places in your heart which went numb -
    so many years out in the cold, the long winters
    on snowy battlefields of the soul, the endless wars
    against unseen, dangerous forces out there in the dark.

    The image is of slow, slow dancing, in a small café,
    in a small town whose name you have already forgotten,
    it could be anywhere, even here, in these lines, just us,
    where we meet, embrace and slow dance in Lago Electronica:

    The image is of shooting stars, laughter, wonder, music,
    coming back again, and again, and again, resurrection,
    salvation from the gulag of despair, remembrance
    of things wished for, so long ago, and then buried
    in the swirling tsunami and upheaval of tectonic history,
    the wave sweeping everything before it, leaving nothing,
    or so it seemed, and yet suddenly the magic returns,
    a suffusion of warmth, a feeling of connection, and hope.

    The image is of slow, slow dancing, our whispers,
    swaying to slow love songs in other languages,
    our movements, our welcome seduction, our night.

    The image is of being held, holding, loving, being loved,
    at long last, only this, the completeness of coming home.

    (Photograph by Alex in the 3-D virtual world of Second Life)
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