Everything can shift shape, can change, can transform. Afterwards I spent hours reading. My one pen is red and the other is black. The fields, you? The worried one is beside itself. Notebook. Under fire. I could feel the fragile truth. The city. Like the palm of a hand without flesh; light and shadow falling through it. Now I am writing again on the quiet. When I wrote your name in the shadows, a ray of sun fell through my window. On the bridge across the lakes I sat and I saw the seagulls, the pigeons, the swans dancing in the wind.