You could make this place beautiful. After
all, why do I want my body when I am truly
looking for a home. I know this because for  
every rooftop there is a dance. Whenever
we all leave our houses to gaze at the same  
moon a theorist is writing about affectivity.  
We are still counting, waiting for the earth's
layers to reverberate, each shaking harder than
the last. Correspondingly, Lakoff and Jackson (1980)
gave three schemas for love: war, force,  
journey. While the people keep crying and the
birds keep chirping and the waves keep crashing,
the noise hits me like a kiss and evokes a force  
journeying a war or a war forcing a journey.  
Depending on who you are, you remember 1980
as the year of the Rubik's Cube or Iran-Iraq– Listen,
I am telling you that we have seen too many rooftops
to be tempted to jump. Dance. You could make this
place beautiful, or I could try to convince you that  
the moon is silently waiting for the sun's call. So,
what do you feel about this place?
We have time. We have time.