And

And you are born and it is Saturday and the afternoon is cool and the grass is fresh and rich and your father sets a blaze in the pit.

And this is you and you can't be still and the meat smoke surrounds you and you have lungs and your mother guillotines salad in the kitchen.

And the lemon tree smells like lemons and the wheel barrow is a shadow on the shed and the grass is damp and the wine box is empty and the universe is a canopy of time.

And you go and the world is old and you collect it in your photographs and you resist it in your plans and it happens and it happens and it happens and it happens.

And the lemon trees smell like lemons and this is you and you are still and the doors lock and the engine ticks while your parents visit school friends at the cemetery.