in some places they allow the waterland to be. they can't mow this anyway. and what fools even say they want to drain the swamp. oh, i'm about halfway through the besieged city. if you live in a place like chicago reading that title you can't help thinking of your own besieged city. all cities are teeming cities of the mind. yet the city is not mine nor a book, though clarice lispector's mind and book and city are at once strange and familiar to me. she dreams words, like the city dreams actions and people. something reciprocal is going on, that can be confusing and chaotic, or lilting and musical, and wonderful. mad ahos in cars, chance meetings, smiles for your dog from radiant strangers, beautiful opportunity, a wetland let be.