See the moon set into the window ledge.

If you watch the film closely, nobody falls from the tree.

It's when the ghosts are quiet I feel the most alone. Give me an opal where all the ghosts go. The opal goes there, at the top of the spine, the mouth of the snake, where the head hangs low. In another life I let the hair grow over my eyes.

When I was young I woke and thought the hair was blood.

You spectres, listen to the music the blood makes. It's my sound in your ears. The moon's the opal and the opal sings in the blood. A tiny bell ringing. An insect who never rests. At night the flowers close like fists. A moth on the stone petals. A heap of moth wings, a libation. A glass bowl of moth wings and water from Mnemosyne's eyes.

But the spirit did not appear.