Beer cans upside down in my sink, an area of melted snow beside the walk: of underground cables and machinery, great knob of cables surrounding the machine.
A bit of ice that a tire had imprinted and split in two, which my foot step upon it again pushed together, restoring the imprint; then hearing the sort of sound only a person in his own head could hear from his body — my wrist rubbing against my moustache.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 