Who could forget it? The night came on that way. The fish shrugged out of their scales. The mermen were left by the mermaids. The men I threw into the abyss stayed, sat on the floor of the dining room with no furniture, pizza boxes, and said that no one even says abyss anymore, and left me by myself in the drawing room. But is it there anyway, unnamed? Into what am I throwing these things— the sunset, the surgeries, the scaffolding? What could hold everything?