Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place    T.S. Eliot




I.

In spite of all..., her most decisive feature still remains her eyes—deep green eyes that mirror alternately both sharp irony and sincere sensitivity towards others. She is strange and beautiful enough to be a model, except for the adverse fate of not possessing a model's height.   I am convinced she remains in Chicago, and has not already moved to New York, for this reason alone, and not because she loves me...I love her;—this is a lie, of course;—everything is a lie.


II.

I can no longer see her eyes through the descending tresses
of traitorous crimson hair;—
dark green eyes if ever I saw.



III. 

her Irish hair
red and glowing like the sky's last flame
from what province of heaven descended
this fiery breath compels the night air
to sustain me
o sorrow o empire of the night
you cannot take from me what I would more willingly part
withal, except my life,
except my
life, except

my life



IV.

The persistence of her memory seems inevitable.—....5'5"... Irish...green eyes...short auburn hair...pale angel skin..., and she has the most gorgeous eyes you've ever seen...the way she used to quietly look at me when we were making love is incomprehensible to me now—.