In any case, the copula between interlocutors is, so to speak, no man’s land.

No one is there. In the transmission between the two sites, agent and agent, each is altered—some static picks up along the way, a trace or a voice. A doubling back in which the pulse of hereness, of that kind of presence, plays trickster to its own evancescence as the present. And then it is irradicated in its own remove.

Not present any longer.
Not presence.

As in the mystical or the poetic: a made thing that converses with—and converses itself past—the presence with which it represented itself.

A poetry that makes dialogue true—or truly—is as contrary to reason as anything Locke could have imagined. Breath and breath commingled in the hollow space inside the world, just one word down.