Klisto summer

Previously

…I want to remember. I want to see her light. I close my eyes, and in the darkness behind my lids, a recipe appears: turkey thighs, roasted, with garlic and thyme. My grandmother’s handwriting. The page is yellowed, spotted with gravy. And there, at the bottom, in red ink: Add love, not forgetting. I open my eyes. The dragon is gone. The plague witch is gone. The beasts have dissolved into the dust. I am alone on the hill, and the smoke column stands above the city like a finger pointing toward heaven. I whisper: “Aš prisimenu.” I remember. And the zeros in my mind begin to fill with light.