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The Basin's mass of water held up & off behind that big door, we stole down dry stone steps into the graving dock's depths to operate our cinema-machine. Spring-driven device divided night, an hour's chilly labor. Everything changed now. Film-strip finds vaguest ghosts of gone world.

Three distinct layers of organic matter have accreted over the asphalt I laid with a teen work-crew on the grounds of the Physical Culture Palace nineteen years ago. I noticed today eight varieties of weed flourishing there, three of them useful to me. One of them deadly.

Bread is thicker than water

My old father, with the weariness of his tens of thousands of days upon him, used (before he passed) to enrich the fibres and folds of my mind with roumanoglot adages whose age and/or authenticity I don't presume to guess at but whose wisdom I was only ever able to bow to.