As I lift the spoon from this morning's coffee I feel the same long pull of time that my father did my mother that their parents did and theirs a chain rattling down into the well so far I cannot imagine. And up, out of that darkness into this present, all of it -- the slow ages of our reptilian forebears, our fearful hominid ancestors, the entire charging ascent of Man -- comes to a juddering halt at this drop of coffee falling from this spoon. We are stranded here immovable at the endpoint of time, banging our heads on the ceiling.

At the bottom I start again lift myself, glance up. And try to peel away all those things I've always known-- the objects, their dryness, their hold, even touch those old splashed years-- scrabbling after some other life. But now I've decided it's next foot above the last-- sadness, now relief-- my muscles, my joints, my eyes open, my own solid walls moving past.

My sweetheart was watching "Flea Market Flip" a buyer had found an old chest of drawers for sale its front all decoupaged up with a bunch of love letters some lady had left inside it so that now when you go to get your nightie out you can sit there and read a few soft words first. She looked at me with that look and said when are you going to write me another love poem it's been so long and laughed not wanting to hurt. She still has my first one from when we were head over heels in that little heart-shaped box and opens it now and then.

I had just risen from the toilet and was pulling up my pants when the door popped open and Linda's wide eyes looked up into mine, and she said, "I had an aggressive sales lady today." I caved, as usual: "Where was this?" "You know, up at the mall." "Uh, okay, what was she like?" "She was very European, in her forties, with reddish brown hair tied up, and reddish lipstick. She whizzed around at everybody saying, 'Oh no, that's beautiful on you - you should take it.' You know, just doing the circuit." (Linda was getting animated herself, talking through a smile with her arms flying.) "I came out of the fitting room with five dresses over my arm and handed her back four. She picked one up and said, 'why don't you like this one?' I said, 'It's too long and way too dressy. I just want a casual one to wear when I go grocery shopping and when it's hot.' So then, in a high-pitched tone, she said, 'What's wrong with these?' I said, 'I only wanted one.' She said, 'Oh, so you're taking two?' I said, 'No, just the one.' She said, 'Why aren't you taking these?' I said, 'Because they're too tight around the boobs.' She said, 'Well that one you're taking isn't extra extra large!' I said 'Well, it fits.' After I paid for it, I looked up at her and said, 'That's a pretty blouse you're wearing.' She said, 'Oh. I didn't buy it here.'"