"Ineluctable Modality of the Visible"

She's 88 today and I'm thinking about her. Thinking about her being alive this long. The things that she has seen. The things. The things that she knows.

Some people don't know things. They think that they know. And they have papers to prove it. But they don't know.

Angels know. The angels in America know because they see. Before any of us have eyes. Like the eyes in a dream. Like the dreaming waking dream that I had last night. Waiting for the baby to wake and thinking my way through sleep. Waking up and not knowing if I said it, or dreamt it, or dreamt that I said it.

And it's not because of the drink. Only one drink, last night, from the guy who wouldn't spill it. No story. Not like Dedalus. Dedalus has a story. He scrawls and writes. He writes his story for no one to read. But no one isn't nobody.