We choose a mantic thanksgiving—dark and steep…

We live as prelude to the mother of all bloodlettings…

We jockey frenetic prayers—glean sources—Sleep the sleep of strangers …

Ghosts in your house—Live through your eyes—live your memories…

The wizard of siren calls—calls you to gloom—cries: kiss me, kiss me, kiss me—I offend no one but you.

“In our home here by the sea we will not last much longer. The cold and the damp will certainly get us in the end, because it is no longer possible to leave … “

— Lydia Davis / “A Natural Disaster”