The sand in my thoughts. Did I sit alone? My sentences are crowded and lack the precise movements of days. Out by the factories. I have written you a map. The northern lights hesitating in our voices.

I wrote letters to you in my thoughts and followed the movements of the road along the coast and the sea, hesitatingly. In the morning, darkness seems to move closer to my skin and there is an accident flickering inside my eyes.

When you say my name, my body answers. Your bones are also making sounds, and inside them a light being undulates and moves.