The goldfish blur into the glass. The glass blushes; the scales and fins become transparent. The motion of the water curves, rises and curves into the calm blue firmament that embraces the golden stars of candlelight and pale, round porcelain cups trembling in the sargassum of cinnamon hair. Moisture beads the surfaces of porcelain and skin that tremble with flashes like falling autumn leaves, as steam envelopes the spiced tea and the curves ofglass, flesh and fish. It is difficult to breathe. It is difficult to find the edges of things.
the lost way 