Dear companion . . .

Faster than slang – stranger than quicksand – it will strike you, once in the gut, again in the jaw . . .

The plants in my kitchen will not grow.  I have potted them in quality soil and I water them as instructed.  And yet . . .

I telephone my friend, the botanist, and he appears in my apartment, as if a wisp . . . the botanist runs his feathery fingers under the leaves.  He presses the soil to test its dampness.  Are you watering these?  Yes, I water them . . . Do they receive sunlight?  As much as the tags declare . . .  He massages his chin in thought.  You’ve tried chemicals, of course? he asks.  Plant food?  Yes . . .

It has been years and years since I was diagnosed with a nonbeating heart and stillborn lungs . . . the doctor reported – you don’t breathe and your heart just floats – you have no pulse – other than that you’re in tip-top shape . . . on your way, now, on your way . . .  And yet these years seem like seconds, and also vice versa . . .

There is nothing more to be done.  I offer the botanist a drink, as a sign of hospitality, and upon refusing he shrivels into ash on my floor.  His movement is such a relief . . .

Sometimes, instead of fear, I pretend there is a swimming pool.  The water is smooth and cool and climbs into my trunks . . . How much water is this?  It’s a large pool, rectangular, with neither a deep nor a shallow end, but otherwise nondescript . . . I decide there’s about as much water as the amount love a human should have in one lifetime.  How lucky!  To be surrounded by so much love at once . . .

It strikes me that I should measure it.   So I drop my head underwater, as an anvil . . . right as the world gets light, I pinpoint the measurement – there must be enough water for me to drown 300 times . . . if I were smaller, a few more – larger, a few less . . .

I regain consciousness after staring at my plant for ten hours of unblinking fury: grow, you little bastard plant, grow . . . ain’t moved a goddamn inch since I’ve watched you . . .

And what is the fourth dimension?  Is it not, necessarily, time?