We were in the garden with the boy who was ill – he was lying back on a supporting plastic frame, like the kind of toy car a child could sit in and pretend to be driving, but bigger. Michael had gone off to kill his mentors (he was last seen wielding a sword), because they’d stopped being friends with him: which was perhaps something – the being friends – that mentors shouldn’t do, and now perhaps they were re-establishing a necessary distance, all the more necessary as they were being hunted.
My friends were being a bit rough with the boy who was ill so I went over to stop them – “I’d have thought you’d have known better, been a bit more sensitive.” They’d started to take some of the mud out of the boy’s middle – it needed to be in there, some sort of fertilizer, in the box containing the water that it was submerged beneath, which kept it moist. So I started to scoop what they’d left on the grass back into the water, and hoped for the best.
On opening the book you find an unobservable secret, a reported departure. Following, you lie by the pool, or visit the exceptional beach. There you read the book again, this history, which never had enough insights through its opening, its dream-charts: in these sleep many lovers, and you suffer again the pages as you go through them all. Loafing in grave Morocco, you note how reality lets us shift.
When I come I tease the extremes that hang, and there drops some higher world. Then Summer seems an earthly edition in which mutely glorious holiday-stems branch themselves, and the art historians do all kinds of writing. And those writings heave, yawn big and grey, divinely cracked and stolen, and so remove themselves to a wide ground which is a vacuum waiting on swathes of light.
Wine is poured and it fills an inescapable sense of bread while we are waiting for publishable studies of the new bed-fellows – and it ends the dry studying of the book, but sleepless elves invest you in wanting to see another edition which will, they say, include banks, chlorine, swimmers, golf, orgasms, paparazzi, openings – and so much more.