"Imagination has nothing to do with memory"

He’ll walk down my Paths and all the Materials we plant will bloom, float up in His wake and wash over Him.

As if his boots, pressing on the pavement, could release new dizzying aromas.

As if the march of his step could drum up the dead: his trampings stamp our embedded provocations into life.

You send them to me: the Words, the Images, the Sounds, the Films.

Take to the Streets, perhaps, and gather Materials from the 3Walks, as I have.