June wanted to cling to the hull of an old liner which had settled into our urban dry dock like a coat throat razor in an old cup of soap. We walked around the perimeter of a giant sand castle that rose in our beach road during the night. As the horizon held hands we found the town standing in a river washing its pre-industrial clothes. I came home as one hand of a glove while she wrapped herself in the other - we thus held onto each other at a distance, violating one of the last laws of physics and causing a v shaped formation of Canada geese to veer off course. While I thought about writing a concerto for ice cream van and orchestra the sky turned itself into a funnel and a cross between powder and liquid tumbled down turning small green plants into frowning faces at a window.