The Taj was what I went to see by moonlight. It took years and all my savings. Now I can't recall my going there as actuality. But beetles, spice and sweat, the thin cows looming like ghosts along the airport road still float into my dreams. Sleepers in streets.
Back home again the marble lace and reflecting pool fade back into photographs. What stays with me is the street person's face. Here it is again - beard, flies, in Cambridge. This time I meet his eyes.