A great noise up above. Upstairs today holiday. Through the cellar window you can see only hobnailed boots. Something is under the night, under the cellar, something. Here inside swims a fish with red scales.
Plants grow in the direction of the deepest darkness.
Between my fingers, water. Dead - but dependent still on Rome. My head sways around in light underwater gusts. And inside my head swims a dead little fish. Rome taps with a finger on the surface of the water.