I never knew if the air opened above our heads or scattered from the sunshine of a thousand bloody gods + feet + lambskin gloves the size of fish to come of streams + lakes + faucets in the decrepit halls of men + their famous children. A line was drawn and out of its leering smile came the voice of ancient bitter dreams, and it spoke to those who were seated by the tree and it told of blue distant yearning and of afternoons with tea + life’s own dusky mew. I never thought to look at the watching night but then I knew the darkly patched sofa in the wood-panelled basement was only a cavernous gash in flickered blue light and I took and I ate and I was glad to rest at last by unlit lamps in low-ceilinged rooms where quiet mice may travel undisturbed and I settled where the warmth of melting butter filled the yellow sun and I learned the myth by heart of all the cupboards and the plates and chipped glasses. They came and soaked the valleys, they dumped their water on the green grass and the receptive mud and the melting snow, well how can it melt when it\\\’s so cold when the birds would drop from the sky when the cars are lifeless metal congregations on slippery passages from dark gray to dark gray. Sometimes it stings me, I\\\’m blinded by the odor just when I least expect it, just when I think it\\\’s gone.
You walked with the setting sun. You walked past the brown leaves and the open wounds of hollow trunks. Your head burns. You are tired and you can\\\’t see very well. It was late. You finish eating and get up abruptly. No one stops you. You felt empty and then she spoke. You saw her mouth move and you heard her words, you didn\\\’t hear her words, you didn\\\’t understand. There is still light but you don\\\’t see it. You heard her speak again but you weren\\\’t looking, you heard her speak again and you tried to understand, she tried to make you understand and you wished you\\\’d heard. What is the night to you? What is it more than a hole in a sock or a broken fingernail. You whince. There it was before you. It was silver and bright and you tried to hold it, but you couldn\\\’t. She said something about it. It wrapped around you and you saw, you saw green flowing seaweed and the white foam, you saw the worm in the bird\\\’s beak, you saw the cloud obscuring the moon and it was, it was safe and the light was blue dark and safe. All there is is dust on the floor and cracks in the molding. The shades were drawn and you could hear the scratching in the ceiling, you could hear the heater rattle and voices outside but you were drowsy. But that\\\’s just it, really, the line between the mind and the night, it doesn\\\’t really exist, it\\\’s just where you want it to be. Nothing changed and nothing was born.