A foreign city.
Motionless but the wind.
Held down by heat beneath a tram.
A fountain – barren in the cold.
Arms rested against a fence.
We witness a robbery.
Three boys.
Feet gripping gravel.


“SHUT UP”
“SHUT UP”
“THEY WILL HEAR US”
“DISAPPEAR”
“DISAPPEAR”


Walking back into the kitchen.
No one to tell.
Head rests against cold tile.
Sweat scrapes like sandpaper.
Heated light bearing against the skull.
Arms like anvils.
Skin like stalactites.
The memory of a home.