I wrap this house around me, lie on straw mat on carpet watching the sky blaze through the rungs of the small table, and know that it is mine and if it weren’t for that I don’t know what I would do on a night like tonight. That sky has long since ceased to flame and has been flapping heavy wings, long and slow, making the palms shake and bend outside my closed windows now inside reflecting – the moon inside my head is only the light.

Every five days the earth shifts on its axis. So it would seem.