breathing is blessing

Lufkinhales (he is [t]his breath), and fervor fills his face; between nowheresy and pre[s[ci]en]tense he treads a thin and sparsim space. “a kiss could be the cover of a quandary if careful, and the quarter of another be the boundary of balefulfillment’stationary standing. return is the rotation less discrete and more demanding.”

Torea turns a [. . .]

the wakeful without hunger are hung

it would not be recognized by many in this day and this age. when the [one who would be] Fleet first saw it, he blinked, and slowly—not too slowly—turned the page. he read on for a measure, as much in ears as eyes, then rose and placed it on the shelf. note there: placed, not [. . .]

a door in Dresden

he’s chosen a hotel next to a ‘works, again, i notice. i enter, ring the bell at the desk of the Laughing Lotus. the proprietor blanches when i show my badge, and takes me to the suite without a word. he glances at me sidewise every seven seconds (on the average), his eyes as flitful [. . .]

Heritage Hill

“he was here, and no mistake. his sign pervades this place.” i speak as measured as i’m able. it helps me if i pace.

“you would know it, if any would,” says Lufkin, calm as i remember. he always had that talent. it was December when i saw him last, in the Year of the [. . .]