June went out the door as thin as paper when I came downstairs with the ease of a canal boat navigating an endless series of locks. I spent my breakfast making three dimensional shapes from two dimensional ideas and was in the middle of inventing polyhedron love sonnets when a particularly attractive octagonal prism went down the road walking an eight legged dog - behind both a pillar rose into the sky with nothing at its top. Ice fingers were playing the fish pond piano as I fed the harpies in our cellophane garden. I checked on our stone age ancestors who were congregating round the mound where an inverted telescope had once allowed the sky people to see the earth. I then wrote a poem to a sub mariner’s coffin as it was propelled from a bow torpedo tube of a Churchill class submarine.