we have moved. i will not say where; the city does not, really, have a name. it is the kind of place where the rain is also called the weather.

i do not miss the noise from your kitchen at four in the morning. i miss the fact of it: the knowledge that somebody nearby was awake, and burning something, and not minding.

if you should hear a knock at a strange hour, it will not be me. but it might be a thing i have sent.