i wait to read memory, not sure why, ruminating on it before reading i guess. i read about it again this morning—i think now how memory is constellation—i keep going on tangent but always toward. and learn that there's another book, the journal of her sister written the same year, and the publisher is a couple blocks from my old apartment. i'm not sure how memory works, i drift with direction, once i wrote that something tends my tendencies, it can be squalor or a particulate grace, it may be what we attach to, that's memory, intuitive, what we reach for with our feelings, unknowing, reaching to connect, connecting by reaching, writing, seeing.