You hear the rising sounds of the flocks. Afternoon waggles its tail with a little beat, tacky with hip sway. Kerchang, kerchang and we’re loose. But the leaves glinting the sun on your eye! Are you accusing me of some kind of attack? It’s the world tipping and we’re all hanging on underneath midday. The music’s got to that jangle stage, bottles dipping at the source. I only want to dance. With you on the side of the hill. Don’t raise your hand to your face. Just see through it all. I was you once. Of course, I’ll never know now what it was like. The evening swoops and your brow is a mystery, you don’t understand. Past caring, past the throat, somewhere torn, that’s where there’s hope, the repairs of winter. I had some information with me but it’s lost. Now all I have is a postcard I sent you. As though I was writing about the sun setting on the ocean but that is way back west. You never accompanied me on that journey. I have never come to rest and my feet are shadows on the ground, effaced by night. The music skips and the leaves scrape by. In the light I pool my ignorance, waiting for a question or a reply.