It’s dying today. Light is tearing off. The glazed door is sliding, opening on an unprecedented flood. I’m not very good at silence. All the red shall be removed. You resonate: we’re separated from death forever. Which I find a bit striking. A soaking back doesn’t prevent from reading: captive more than new life. That words really have to be said, the whole shebang. You resume: things we cannot seek for consolation.