I liked the fourth declension—all those “u”s. So much of Latin, till then, was “x”s and “v”s—like Roman architecture, or Rome itself. Cicero and Petronius. Cornelia and her jewels. Always a frontal verticality, or horizontal woolgathering philosophy of the old school. But the fourth declension—and the ablative absolute—is one of those surprises destined to appear regularly throughout the Roman experience. Similar are the famous “mustard fruits” of Cremona. A delicacy? I think not. But a conversation stopper, definitely, that makes you go back over the recent distance, the liquid recent past like water as evoked by Debussy. Not to worry. Not to shudder. Better things—though not the best—may be lurking around the next corner, or it may be “Go to Jail.” Forget the hotel on Kentucky Avenue. This isn’t living, either, but maybe a larger segment of some still unmapped, vaporous continuity. We can live with that, right? And if not, you can always scrap it. Indifferently reflective, half-informed by an ageless glitter, he makes his way to the lectern, harassed by bigwigs, cheered on by schoolgirls. In what a joyless world we evolve it’s a wonder we find time for pets and hobbies, not undone by prophecies, or not this time, but be careful, God is the crossing guard. You wouldn’t want him to interrupt you.