in the centre of the cathedral the square of a little town where those in the know tell of an invisible cathedral. a massive guest the outside light there is such purity in the pigeons’ feathers superfine flour falls from the sky on buildings on trees on people’s shoulders. small bones rattle echoing in the coffin of a small guitar while the world can no longer contain happiness. there at the wall two lovers wind into an 8. late. in their shade a blind horse is crying sweat from its neck.