he is a shadow, my constant companion: a darkness that follows the light. today he is beneath the edge where the roof overhangs. he puts his brown hand (a fluttering bird) inside the eave. bats, he says. his arm reappears like a phantom. a crow watches this conversation. the indian tells me to wait for the cold. I’ll come back and lift your friends out. trust me, he says. the crow (a silent shade) raises black wings, flies to the roof. the indian climbs down. he points a burning cigarette towards the bird.
listen, he says.
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Utterly compulsive reading, each one building on the last.
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