Sea creatures in tanks at the Museum of Modern Art, my internal logic contingent on the expectation that you would elope with Nelson Rockefeller. The love triangle reimagined in Graces, Fates beside them, Furies in tow, Muses tugging the other side of the rope. ‘On board the Circe’ she sends us via abode of Scylla, their past appears closer by superior mirage. My dream a drink with Harry Cohn we mirror the coats of the west (spoiler). Boating is an aid to memory, you can leave me at the next sight of land, keep the limbs, ‘lose all companions.'