At the end, think of a windentering a kindof garden. Opened, windenters a garden—what else couldwhatever what wallencircles be called—listen to it ending, the draftwithin earreach within.Then consider the exterior.Greened stone parts alreadyuncertain field. But thereis wall before. What I wascircling first, outer scarpI had been returning from, anotherpart of unlevel field along defile assumed, revealedas steep-sided ditch nowrendered abandoned by newwall, something some strayingthing might look to hutchup down in. Yes, whatwent on was like that.Foregrounded before. Fora stint, charted. What Iwalked up and, insidewhich, above which, walked.This wasn’t how I said I would,at the end, go on. This iswhat lure is, isn’t it, revisitinga shut perimeter. The gatesthat can open not opening.