A knight, in one of my dreams, spoke with Nancy and told her things about the Gualeguay and about a ballet where I sometimes assist. What might he have told her? What might he have told me?
Through those shady gates of the computer in front of which I write races a dog. Where's he headed? Is he, by chance, someone's dog that lives in my head and who Rodin was always telling to sit? What has become of Rodin?