Thoroughbreds in fairy lights, head to toe. My little black heart reads from a tome it barely recognises. Fondness and fortune spread far and wide; beyond the trees, potent river songs whistle upon the rippling sky. Honey glass, steamed with cinnamon nylon synaptic spasms. All the hours of the world wrapped in the now. Giants play footsie with grass snakes. My friend, the Tarantula, kicks its legs into the face of death. Twisted guitars snap back straight. The final year of the pennywhistle. The drawings of emotional friction. Glistening, in dew, and with the universe pulsing through, my eyes unlock the marvel of space.