The afternoon sun is bright and repellent, casting us all indoors.

The day begun half-done - journey's end leaving this bright shard to work with. But what's to be done?

Home again and half unpacked. The treasures unwrapped, the laundry left to lie. The fridge picked clean of any fresh thing, a box of light and bottled darknesses. I lack the will to amend it.

Trying to remember who I am when I'm at home. Hiding as much from the giggles of girlfriends as the afternoon light.

I want to move forward with something. And I want it to be something true.

It's not so easy. The shadowy fall into hushed driftings. The loops of memory and projections, where I've been and where I'm going. Exploratory surgery.

For a moment I let go all doing, let the page stay blank. Leave the word unformed.