These poems lead us through a constellation of places: hotels, airports, cosmodromes, quarries, abandoned cities, vacated rooms—the dreamlike settings of past events that may or may not have occurred as we remember them. It is what remains when the fundamental categories of time, identity, and history no longer function reliably. In a world that has lost its center of gravity, we drift among the wreckage of value systems now decommissioned, laden with memories from a lost age. Although we survived the loss, we can no longer hold a stable form. While continuing to move, we no longer share a destination. We are an intermittent community, made up of fleeting trajectories that brush up against each other before disappearing into the openness of a universe which, though increasingly difficult to inhabit, is the only one we can call home.

These poems lead us through a constellation of places: hotels, airports, cosmodromes, quarries, abandoned cities, vacated rooms—the dreamlike settings of past events that may or may not have occurred as we remember them. It is what remains when the fundamental categories of time, identity, and history no longer function reliably. In a world that has lost its center of gravity, we drift among the wreckage of value systems now decommissioned, laden with memories from a lost age. Although we survived the loss, we can no longer hold a stable form. While continuing to move, we no longer share a destination. We are an intermittent community, made up of fleeting trajectories that brush up against each other before disappearing into the openness of a universe which, though increasingly difficult to inhabit, is the only one we can call home.