Have you ever stood facing east at night, toward City Hall, lighted, Romanesque, your great grandfather’s image in its arches, its dome a breast of his wife, and the man behind you takes your dangling hands, thumbs outward, and pulls them back so you rest on his chest, and his nose nuzzles through long hair, touching your ear, while he includes you in a unique line of womanhood – sensible, respectful, fun – and as he looks past your breasts, they feel proud to be connected with that dome, past with present, and your knees barely hold you, and you belong to him there on the sidewalk, his desires yours, reality dream?