Dear Swimmers:

"My/heart's in my chest,/you snake"

Any part of the world that matters is now contained within a waltz (fast or slow) or the back of a bookshop on a Saturday, the changing sky at Cape Scott or my white lamp against the late sunlight.

And the horsemen that skirt the lakes in search of the secrets of the depths as anthems blaze in their torches they look to the shores.