Mon, 14 September

Left on the step: one pair of boots, laces loose, holding the shape of feet that walked on without them. Trailing off the fence post: a leash, its far end open to the dark, unclaimed. Swallowed by ivy: a gate, down to its top rail and a single rusted hinge, still just breathing above the green. Burning in a row, three by three: meeting rooms, empty, exact, waiting patiently for people who have gone home. Unaccounted for: a dog, mid-stride, already dissolving into the gold, chasing something nobody else can see.