it is up to the swallows…

…It takes a trunk full of chickens
to top the tank,…

Inside, I hang my coat on a peg. Outside, the sky restores itself…

One gets used to it, the cold, how brittle things are…

When I left this place, this place took my ankles, my body…

Wandering, it carries us weightless to our trains…

it’s easiest to dream / when the breakwater breaks / and the tide rushes in