list

i scrolled through the entire list (reminding myself, just now, of the statement that reading required binding and turning, the leafing through--the opposition to the stretch of parchment, the drawing scroll of paolo soleri, the infinite jest, atop the box, wheeling through the writing, pulling the parchment from the ground and circulating its contents to meet the street once more).  i realized that we had met in some middle, his words and our correspondence of time.  in my own finding of empty envelopes and the dial tone, his knowing less than i had expected (i still remember well, the day that i did not know him). 
he wanted things more, is level, is humble.  he is human when i suspected all at once that he was the other side of me, the wanting out, the laying below, the hiding.  some of this is true.