My astral soldier friend is seriously ill. She is curled up like a distant memory and wont take in food or kind words. The boy in me shrunk into the cellophane wrapping a long discarded toy was brought home in. We made plans for future existences in case we parted in the glass eye of the night. As the wrong curtains were brought down on the wrong play I wished we could all live in many times at once as I am not happy about being alone in this one - I wrote this as a pair of shoes climbed the stairs with no feet in them, they paused and then climbed another flight even though there isn’t one (I looked to see if there was a pair of gloves coming down but my fantasy and fancy didn’t stretch that far). I went to bed with the soldier and we reminisced about our campaigns of invention and imagination.