20th August 2016

Alive almost exactly
one week. The most
important thing is to
sleep. When you sleep
you sound like you’re dying.
Under my eyelids you are
drowning in milk – lungfuls
of white and cream. But
when the retinas have had
an hour’s dreaming rest
the effect is like a saline bath,
rinsing away the sting and
burn of being awake, you lie
perfect on a white towel,
head to one side – the sort
of profile that should be
pressed on a coin – and
your chest’s rise is only
just perceptible; the yellowish
skin where your throat and
collar meet filling with and
emptying air. You are almost
exactly one week old and
you are asleep.