I I remember meeting you during the Christmas holidays many years ago. A fire burned in the fireplace but you had a glow that tugged at the moth–in-me. Behind your cherub mask your dark eyes darted, searching, I suspect, for affirmation of your beauty, and beneath the bell tones of your laugh I sensed the broken pieces of your past. II And now, a series of images: (you taking nourishment in my soup kitchen) (you [dark] an...