Not my desk

To M. and her desk:

Colors can be luminous, I thought earlier, walking down Broadway in the orange glow. Unfocused, not of streetlights, but the impermeable halo that rises from the city. Like M.'s desk, which neither of us can seem to stop meditating on since I was over there last week and we decided to do some writing exercises; for one of them I wrote about her desk. She painted it white I don't know how long ago and now it flaunts wax and water marks as well as cracks where the wood peeks through. The opposite of black. The opposite of so many things.

Later on a slight wind creased the iridescent water (46)
It is compelling the words you are drawn to and the ones that I choose to engage...