. . . .

An uninhabitable dwelling is on the opposite embank- ment. That side of the river takes on the form of what is built on it — picture a shoreline resembling a lichen, a serpent, or a loved one, depending on the position of the boards and the position of the windows, which only appear to be fixed. The land and river rearranged like the house that crawls around them, frayed with mist.

From here it is difficult to distinguish between these soft proper nouns wrapping around each other like trees do when the distance between them is too little. They are undulating animals at the destination, over there where everything is better and more beautiful. Watched from a vantage point on a mattress in the liver of the city, using methods taught by the blood — uninhabitable phrase, the sole source of sound.