Cluttered corner of the dance studio. Cloth, food items, all supine, caressing, waiting for their body's fulfillment. I fascinate myself with such ephemera; never shall the Grutli 2nd floor rear studio have exactly this configuration again. Just so, DNA is excreted, left behind, by each and every one of us; our stains are everywhere, disappearing, overwritten. The chatter of the shortwave, the axioms of set theory, the leap impefectly completed - all of these move quickly to the periphery of our attention. By happenstance, something will return with fury; by happenstance, something returns, impounding existence.