not hovering, but still. growing heavy above the skin and playing a few frames, repeatedly themselves. a dark animal moves here. covering this everything with flags, faces filling the walls of a small lantern beam of vision. listening to you standing darkly at the edges of me and breaking the table into the shapes of picasso's brush, i remember an image of the long carpet, dragging furniture behind you, narrowing into the doorway at your heels. i will forget it father, though i know now what it does. tommorow we will gather the curved film of the street under us and direct ourselves among the houses. almost remembering- a kestrel brings to mind the image of osiris, thoth, hermes. before and after, a flight, a descent, a breaking. a beater falling on a drum.