Small perfect wizards invade my home. They spread like fireworks.

At first I’m thinking they’re here to help, like cleaning or something. But I notice they’re not carrying out dirt or anything. In fact, they don’t seem to be doing much at all. They rearrange furniture. More and more of them arrive, emerge. And I realize that faint noise I keep hearing is just them trying to cast me out of my own house.

We go to the horse pharmacy. The horses walk slowly out. Leadened by pills. I eat some hay for my gut, I like it.

These days, the well is invisible. Lassie doesn’t fall in. Cops chase criminals they can’t find, aren’t looking for. The dried-up lake has become a shrine to water. History is happening as we speak but we don’t see it. On the path I see a neighbor but we don’t acknowledge each other. I hold your hand, but you’ve been gone forever.