"and i thought of emily dickinson as i watched the fog come down the alley. without touching the roofs of the houses or the towers of the mosques, the fog passed through, finding the path to the water as it did every morning. i thought emily would take me by the hand and into her house. i promised her to keep quiet. her father wouldn't know i was there, her sister was in town anyway. i had told her, let me hold your hand, emily, i will touch you like your mother, like your daughter, like your lover. i will touch you like your loneliness, emily, your loneliness is my loneliness."