a white cloth rises above the sea. a single pulse, increasing: uncontrollable longing. waves push torrents of static towards the house.

darling emerges from the water, her hair spread in curlicues across her long, white back. she lifts her hand and the waves subside. today, everything will stop. here she will stop. this is how she feels about fish. she has to go underground. the first possibility is breaking some mirrors.

duchess is careful not to move. sweat slips down the back of her neck, a chill passing through her like a ghost. she gathers strength as the moments accrue. her shoulders tense, struggle to escape from stillness. this is the last; she trembles, she glows; she is consumed. the shadows will prevail.

darling spreads a line of salt across the threshold. she calls are you here? where are you? with no result, no echo. she makes me blush. she checks her progress, glancing behind her: only a quiet and lonely fog. her fingertips, stretched as far as she can reach, barely brush the ceiling. darling shakes off the mist clinging to her skirt, clucking, pulling bits of glass out of her hair. now that the door is closed, things will get worse. all i can do is watch. it starts with her memories, things she has saved. roses dipped in white paint. knives slipped under bed-stands, keys dropped in pitchers of milk. secrets she has had to hold. she begins with these fragments. they will lead her somewhere; she will allow herself to be lead, to be held. to the precipice, the terrible edge: beyond which the clouds assume shapes.

i don’t have the voice, i only watch and wait, with the guidance of a window.

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