in my tape player... his Smith's mix   on the page... Donna Tartt The Secret History   into... Arthur Dove; the bluish silver of nocturne; cinerama live; early morning thunderstorms; windows that don't close; the elliptical trainer at the gym; diet coke   found and speaking to me... Jim. A lengthy email. A happy life. A smile on my face at the prospect of catching up with an old friend.   a wish for other dark galleries... I spent Saturday at the Boston MFA, weaving in and out of the familiar rooms, sitting for hours in the bookstore. And my mind drifted constantly to that other dark gallery, with the stained wooden floors and the touch of something so real.   burned atop one another... Our words, heavy and dramatic as they were, were peppered with loud claps of thunder and rattling window panes. And now I fear thunderstorms will never bring me the same sense of perfect calm that they did in the past, but instead wash me in pain and loss.