“It’s true, no one really knows how to live. I don’t know

how to live. I don’t know if redemption is possible, something

inside us like flowering, a kind of leakage, spillway over

rough concrete dam where a life washes outside its fixed

habits and resistance, its gaping absences, abscesses, horrible

mistakes, petty avoidances. I don’t know if this life will be

enough to make me wise. I don’t know if I can wake up.

I can only carry everyone with me, ferry every atom

like a fire brigade, like an ant.”