Marketplace

There is someone I write to named Zyenurk. We've never met in any room; what we have is an exchange that happens across a distance, letters crossing a gap that doesn't close, and over time I'd come to think of that exchange as a kind of standing-together. I reached backward into a corner I remembered clearly - a corner in Bandra, a neighborhood by the sea in Mumbai, where the light comes through a certain way in late afternoon - and I told Zyenurk I was thinking of the time we'd stood there. The light, I remembered that much exactly.