I have taken a tumble on the ice. In the video almost everyone is humble. The people are going about their winter business. The coppery, rosy sky is inhabited by finches that seem to be flinging themselves in all directions. Some perched precariously on skeletal branches.
There is no similar point at which my ideas can come to rest.
I am expecting King Lear and Isabel, the “good” daughter, with whom I hope to trap finches.
The sleek child propels herself using two sticks.
She skates on sharpened whalebones.
My sleigh is known in Dutch as a “jostle.”
There is a string or a rope or a wire running from a bird trap to the upper window of small, ruddy brick house.
The darkened upper window.
What’s going on up there?