You never experience as from experiencing but always reflectively, as from a single step behind yourself, it would be too alone, too final, without any hope of restoration or recovery. The "I" which is monumental audacity in face of being is rationalised and reserved, made provisional, but this is a way of moving further in adding spaces rather than out, a synaesthesia of body and feeling become the sole staging ground and voluptuous fall. It's like a puzzle you are set, this re-entry via complex paths, a lexicography of time and memory. No less maddening all the factitious necessity, caressing, pounding, breaking and resonant as a bell that vainly tries to awaken the shadows of a thousand sunsets over a stubborn and ancestral sea whose briny spray you can almost taste as it meets you full in the face and bears you down too easy.