You know it's true, the things I grapple with: the intense fear of writing a sentence that will not live forever, that my books may not contain the world, enlarge the world. That all the cities of the world are not enough: Malaga, Halifax, Lagos, Vienna, New York, Milan. That one day you, my greatest psalm, will slip through my arms, away from my embrace. Yet will I remain...

Darling, I come bearing gifts, across all the waters of the world—my love is a trans-oceanic chant.