Over Rundberg

The balcony is the width of a door. There is a plastic chair, and he doesn't take it. He brings out two glasses of water, hands you one, and sets his on the rail, in a ring that is already there. There are other rings. Many.

Below, the lamps are lit in the wall of cubes behind the elementary school, taller than the school, and in a bus shelter on the corner, and out past them a chain-link fence has gone green from end to end. That's where I started, he says. You look at the fence, and he looks past it.

Far off, over Rundberg, in a window, there is a lit square with a smaller square inside it. He doesn't point. He drinks from his glass and watches it.

You lay the card on the rail beside his glass, the dots up. He looks at them, and then back at the window.

The lamp in the window goes out. From here you cannot tell if it is warm.