From the walled window of this other universe the world looks very much the same. Dusk approaches. I breathe the smoky air. Just beyond the turning of the main road there’s a path that wanders through pine trees sometimes overgrown, sometimes clear, like a story the old woman tells, about the love potion that succeeded and failed, and then. . . . After a while, I open the door and wander that way, feeling the cold air enter my lungs like an ancient glowing army that disappears into the cave; I can just see the final purple streaks of twilight — hints of a different conclusion some wiser man could have imagined. After a while my thoughts begin turning to chimney smoke that drifts upward, my feet stirring along like a few twigs just tossed on the embers, an awkward diminished fire still seething and hissing in my chest. Dark solitude. I can tell that whatever else it is, this confused and inconsolable passion will be with me to the end.