Where has she gone, my sister, where has she gone, my lover? It has taken me so long to realize what I knew lingering under the table as a boy among aunts: that there is always another story, another genealogy, "richer" she said "filled with the detail which makes change in your singularities." Writing in time about time I find that she has linked her vision (aunt's vision) of the men here, and yet I wonder (and in the way of men who wonder, act? this is our sin, all these warriors) adding another gate here to hers, another genealogy. This is a chase over time. Just yesterday, when we were talking about the writing of these sister stories, I said to her "the problem is to find your actual place in this world, the calendar" (my sister's circle opens and closes, my Mexica), and now today, pleasurably discovering her new links, her texts, I have to find where I am. What is this place, Tecuilhuitontli? How do I say it? Who likes mashed potatoes and who can't stand raisins? (I wrote this after; she wrote this first.) What had Bodhi-Dharma left for the East? (A chase in time, midafternoon calm in Rhinebeck after the film and on the way home the lavender Catskills were gilt with the backlight of sunset: "Two simple happenings/That got entangled" [from the death poem of Kozan Ichikyo 1360]