I am sitting outside ... 3:36 AM, misting rain; the sky a dark red like the colour of a feverish dream. 

Midnight: glasses high and your whappish form bent over a piece of paper in the dark. Paper gone: just you in the bedroom with your shoulders back, feeling watched and felt all over, like a child's hat in a crowd. Sweat starts behind your ear and labours slowly down the back of your neck. From outside, children's noises clank against the window frame and spin inside drunken and staring. The hot Tennessee night rings on. You are the form of a tree, spindling and bending , your head all with worries and higher things. I dispatch a beacon of thoughts spelling disaster upon our heads, we fall down into a wall of grass and tie our hands together with flax. Your eyes are like buckwheat in the falling moon. I am safe in many arms.