at the superstore, miffed because they’ve started filming me at the checkout. For my own protection. I scan the car park slab searching for more cameras but only spot crow up on the apex of the grocery shed, gazing calmly at Creation. And the moon and the daylight-hidden stars and memory-mocking ancient time are a canopy over my cropped head. I have slipped between the cracks, I’m a ghost to the hours who suddenly remembers what it was to be alive. Do the work and then do something that makes you feel more alive.
