And the house has two windows and a door And in the sea is a warship having fun catching promenaders on the seashore: Four, five, seven fall down on the sand. And the girl is saved for a while because a hazy hand a divine hand of some sort helps her, so she calls out: ‘Father Father! Let’s go home, the sea is not for people like us!’ Her father doesn’t answer, laid out on his shadow windward of the sunset blood in the palm trees, blood in the clouds Her voice carries her higher and further than the seashore. She screams at night over the land The echo has no echo so she becomes the endless scream in the breaking news which was no longer breaking news when the aircraft returned to bomb a house with two windows and a door. Green flies The scene is the same as ever. Summer and sweat, and an imagination incapable of seeing beyond the horizon. And today is better than tomorrow. But the dead are what’s new. They’re born every day and when they’re trying to sleep death takes them away from their drowsiness into a sleep without dreams.
