You said you were learning Russian because you wanted to be an astronaut. And you laughed and apologised, remembering the friend who found such talk irritating because 47 was too old for dreams.
Once, you stood between the sun and the moon. There was a rabbit on the moon.
They said, then you can write an auto-ethnography about seeking refuge on the moon.
You said you weren't going to the moon. You said you were going to Mars. You said you were going to be part of a manned mission to Mars.
You laughed and said you were not to be minded, you were being you, making connections where there might not be any.
You said you did not want to be a hero because bad things happen to heroes.
crow's call tears morning meadow's run
blackbird with white stripes bore news
squirrel,
giddy from dodging cars on Welford Road, cyclists on Putney Road, and buses on Aylestone Road,
markings on the road
You did not know if there was an age at which you have to stop dreaming, an age at which you have to pack away dreams the way some people pack away toys.
One day, in London, it was day and then it was night and then it was day again with no darkness at all in the middle.
And you stood between the sun and the moon.
The sun and the moon were like lovers pulling to each other over the rooftops because they could not bear parting.
do you remember how you got here?
why did you come?
do you remember anything?
If you let me, I could love you forever, said the sun to the moon.
