…there is remorse it comes in waves that can be jumped if the timing is good. There is something else, a kind of combat against the relentless advance of loose threads in the tapestry. That man who stumbled into my path, tripped by a loose thread, or thrown by a seizure, we locked hands and eyes in the grand mal way. I saw something, maybe. He saw something definitely. Said so through hard, tired lips as I wiped the spit from his chin. My instinctive weakness to reach out caught me by surprise, breaking the vow to remain detached made when I kissed the bride for last time. The molecules of that encounter fell into the wind, scattered, in the precise pattern that gravity maintains, as if drawn by a cartographer, or cubist -and so we are moved by remorse, combat, gravity, by seizures, weakness, and vows.