Woke up in a new house. Sometimes there were sounds but mostly quiet. There was a rectangle of sky. It would be nice to be able to carry that rectangle with me, folded then wrapped in silver foil like candy, or like a mild cigarette. The pocket where I would keep it would be close enough that I could feel its shape against my skin. In dark, quiet places I would notice the shape most distinctly, and I would think of that other place, the one where I’ve been.

I’d like to be good at feeling loneliness without actually being lonely. The feeling makes nice openings through me, like a cold hand placed across a fever, or like glimpses of small fish in a fast river. It’s fall and the rocks are slick; the leaves are releasing droplets of last night’s rain.

I found, in the ceiling of the shed that will be my office, a small opening. A red curtain  hangs in the opening. So I will have a creepy little crawlspace to live in too.