She had lovely blue pupils; her irises expanded at important times; she had a cat whose name was also Emma with rare golden fur which was the color of her hair.

And he realized that he had never seen the two together. And perhaps those magic realist poets were not as fabulous or as fantastical as they had always seemed—

Perhaps an office worker could awaken from uneasy dreams to find himself transformed into an insect; perhaps a jilted girl’s unhappiness could flood the world with tears.

Maybe it was as they’d always known, deep down: the world could change and fall into accordance with an inner truth.

And perhaps the one you loved could change into another form and could reveal her inner nature on a cloudless night whose moon watched over you as calmly as a spectator in a drama who at any moment could begin to sing and flood the world with sound. Their favorite song was playing, reaching a crescendo when Emma padded over to him; her irises were glowing with the illumination of a secret knowledge.

He undid his jeans and he was overcome with music.

Her tongue was sandier than usual; for a moment there was nothing to disturb him but a light little knocking at the door and the sound of Emma saying that she’d left her keys inside and could you let me in?