Coming into Hartford again, and remembering the things that we saw here before.  So much of what I know, and what I have to keep in the palm of my hand, is made up of pieces of things that I cannot explain to anyone.  And only you would understand.  When we were here, it wasn’t that long ago, but it seems like we were too young, and didn’t know anything, and life lived sweetly, in a Hartford hotel, where there was no care in the world, just something that felt like time moving across my wrist…

It was too long ago, and it wasn’t long enough ago, and we were young and older than anyone would have guessed.  I found you here, even though we’d known each other all our lives.  There was a show, there was music, and all our friends told us this was the best club, this was the one where you could move like they do in San Juan, and for a few moments I could see white sand falling from your mouth when you spoke, and the waves were in your eyes.  It’s grey here, greyer than I imagine, the kind of grey that I like, awake in the morning and again just before the light of day goes away…

This is why I can’t imagine Hartford without thinking of that mix of white sand and sun, and the blue of the sky and the water.  Those colors fall over everything, like a dream of Yemaya in her younger version Asesu, calling somewhere beneath the first layer of wave, wearing it like a blanket, while she is peeking into the hearts of her sleeping children to find out why they are still awake.  And I can’t tell her that we are always awake, because we never sleep.

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