It can also be the house in which being hides itself in the desire of writing. But part of Kafka's failure to achieve the disappearance he so desired was that he chose to write to someone to who would never comprehend this need. She stands on top of the cement canopy of the water fountain, branches around her white arms. On each of her four edges is one word. Which twists a limit in this coming snow.
Movement brings bliss.
Include the walking priestess in letters. The dead are not dead to the world of language, nor language need resurrect them. For Kafka, speech is the desire for writing, for disappearance. Browne moves from presence to the presentation of the ghostly that poetry lives both with and among.