I got up holding the hand that had emerged, fully grown and armed, from my forehead during the night:. I let it go when the dog frightened the cats cradle and an imaginary spiral staircase walked down our stairs from the first floor (I call our bedroom the belfry). As June was part of an artfully arranged still life I left the house alone and walked across the bog person ground using open hands as stepping stones - I got across before they came together to clap. I returned in the arms of a diurnal bat, with wine glass epaulettes and car exhaust hat. June was clinging to the scaffolding surrounding the Statue of Liberty when it started to move - at first measuring its footsteps in both metric and imperial and then walking off into the gunpowder confetti of the pretend revolutionary distance.