Wed, 4 March

ghost of steps not tracked — I. The fox knows three routes home. One smells of butter crust. One smells of argument. One has no smell at all, which is how you know it's the true one. II. At the place where the clouds broke someone had written in pencil on the underside of the sky: this day will not be recorded. The pencil was also unrecorded. The sky was on loan. III. The battery died at 40% which is the exact percentage of any life that is legible. The rest is watercolor run past its edge — beautiful, unmappable, already dry.