Conversation with Therese
We tasted our Linzer tarts, he telling me: first the body wants earth. Then, the body wants earth more. I should have said, I will leave you in two months. That the next time you pass Balthus’s young neighbor lounging on his armchair, you will think: Whatever people call it, this is love. And she, sleeping Therese, arching back like a red spindle working green thread, will turn her head to you and say: Don’t you know the landscape is three? The grass, the audible, the pulling back.