The weight of light. ----------------- The weight of light [she said under a streetlamp one night when rain was only visible from within the powdery orange cone of light as if there were an idea singled out in the night every twenty yards and as all of it shone on her face and made her eyes longer I could not breathe I did not want to breathe any more] The weight of light [she did not repeat but just said, and did not say but just discovered-- how could she shine like this-- the rain patting on her face there was a beauty in what she said that I could not recover later] The weight of light, have you ever thought about that? [no i haven't my love i cannot think of anything else but the rain on your face i'd use rain water for ink and you for paper if i just had an idea if i just had an idea the idea you think you have found the idea you have just picked up from the plain street-- I just have you and i don't want it to feel enough] It could make a good title, anyway, she said [giggling softer than light and if all of this can't mean a thing why are my legs as watery as this night? and why can it mean something to her?], lighten up, honey, what's the matter? Later, as we strolled down dark streets and the night was full and mobile in a way, populated by something weighty and barely unseen she told me you cannot see the night, it's the non-seeable, and we talked about that too [looking for sparks of ideas so my novel would burn, I had none but felt full] Back home, she said turning off the lights that it could help her start a novel. Do remind me of this when we wake up tomorrow, please? Will you? I didn't for years. Nevertheless, she was highly praised this clear morning by The New York Review. It also told me she was married by now.