“The ashes of the rose structure the outline of the rose, as the spectre of the face forms the smile and the gaze lost in the depths of mirrors. They are immovable things, suspended in the air. They disappear slowly when they sediment in the memory. They evoke the remains of cities we loved on a day of glory amidst a whole repertoire of data: credit cards, clips, coins, perfumed letters, key rings, pieces of much fingered paper, dreams. It is still possible to see something more enigmatic in them, like the terrible angel of Rilke. Everything stands in front of us; and not a single thing only, but many. And they are around the night and the roses of ash about to be blown away”.


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