21 NOVEMBER    2008

you're sitting by a bare tree now

it's almost bare its limbs are exposed to the autumn light the wind has only to lick off the last leaves [clinging to] the heart of the tree

through the tangled bare branches a window can be seen for the first time: a neat sash with a dark painted lock and a half drawn blind

the green buds of the sycamore are primed to open as the last leaves are dwindling and curling

meanwhile, a revitalised grand political narrative opens: one man, moving his expressive hands in plain yet compelling gestures, beckons us: deploying human speech quite simply, he expresses solidarity with the president of the maldives, who was forced to hold a cabinet meeting in an aqualung. the plight of people like this will be taken seriously

in another window a man's hand and forearm can be seen hanging out holding a cigarette, then being withdrawn and reappearing. once the cigarette has been smoked down the arm goes and the window closes

we know these movements sweep over like a kind of seasons, sowing and cutting down. alert as we are to their contradictions and abuses, part of us remains exposed, expectant

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a lump in your throat concerns you