sometimes just poke your head through a wall and you find a movieset, new scene EXT., mesh-dappled chives and roofblackened feet climbing their own blue-hooked ladder to the sun ready, the sunset. go
back inside and things have changed they way they do when you've become more aware of the way things were, the heft and aerodynamics of words and peas and sentences unfolding like a mobius strip into communion, an opposite of communication, a spiral where journals might draw lines, twists a matter of reference, each reunion a citation.