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Without feet a month already so much sky apus apus swoop the swifts as they navigate their patterns around my limestone skull this repeated summer – aerial crosses navigating blue at the join of sea to sky i am restless as a listening rock i am opened like a restless cave watch the patterns of our voices and the silent speed of speed across my neck apus apus there had already been a million moons of flight still flying 92
page 93
Cutting up the heat of glaciers Beyond the road, the daily sense of blinking water, awake despite ourselves. We spent the morning indoors workshopping planetary dead ends: could we climb this one? How did the last one begin? A washed-up pier. The first man and the first woman are left to grow in the purposeless heat. Constellations of paperweights, sea ice – which should not have been possible – liquid fossil clocks seen from the angle of the sun. Our focus held the concentration of anniversaries, burning years. Take these bits of aeroplane, traffic cone and secondhand whale. A preference for averages risking routines of change. Whose house were we really in? We decide to build it here, before we can catch hold of anything more wonderful. Submerge our globes in little alchemy, mouthfuls collapsing into tables, doll’s head trucks passed by, by music, eyes I thought we had put out. 93

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Without feet a month already so much sky apus apus swoop the swifts as they navigate their patterns around my limestone skull this repeated summer – aerial crosses navigating blue at the join of sea to sky i am restless as a listening rock i am opened like a restless cave watch the patterns of our voices and the silent speed of speed across my neck apus apus there had already been a million moons of flight still flying

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