But the master is still there. And the
house in the same landscape. Same light, same ambiguous ambience. Same
indistinct murmurs. An inventory to be made. Of the little that remains.
Objects, places, voices. Don’t name its author. Who mandated him? He was
here yesterday, he’s here this morning, will be here tomorrow. The time to
verbalize. Is that the word? He listens and writes. He rereads. He rewrites.
Of the little that remains.
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