This doorway you have me about, is there place for me to address with you, if i see us at noticing anomalously repositioned hangings of stars, and the moon, some call you interchangeable, but that’s the weather. It happens to rain through to the opening day, snow recalled for tomorrow, but that’s just the weather. Night time takes forever, I suppose the clouds are nocturnal filters. In our way to open the trailing night, i have lost you. Alice address me if you can see, the full night-sky, and of latching moonlit door, the well it will run dry, echoed by the land of honeys’ seed and flayed cake.
Adam Blewett * 
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