Died in his sleep on the train | It doesn’t matter which train, where it had come from | where it was going | If you’d believe me, Daniel said, we’d both be happier | She laughed, but the days had to end | There are different kinds of futility, different styles, she thought | and the pine trees rose around them | blank, as all things are, for a moment | then alien and beautiful | then oddly comforting in their otherness, as long as you didn’t have to stay with them | then they weren’t there | She was trying to remember something she was sure was important | but the only thoughts that came to mind were pelicans, in the shallow water near the shore of Hen and Chicken Bay | It was like trying to find the heart of a snowstorm, or the first part of the sea | as Milly asked, at the tips of caresses | Is it all a kind of story? | It was the funniest thing, they managed to get lost, and found themselves at a completely different party! | They were young then, much more carefree | open to accidents, opportunities, with less sense of obligation to anything | except, perhaps, the living moment | You have to build the connections | to make the woods real | such as, a fairytale | So: The ogre tore out the snowstorm’s heart | Daniel had started to cry | Don’t you believe me?


from the series construct (2012–present, ongoing)