today the cold has a certain thickness to it. it pushes us and we are running through it, the hardness of slapping concrete. the sky is itself again, all grey and blue and layered, a doorstep to something. and i think this morning of the place i am finding here, the waking sound of neil's laughter up and through stories, the way that coffee tastes from a jam jar. this thing is so overlapped, so full of overlap, that i look down and i am myself repeated, i am a bold shape against the colour of the day. we walk down the street and there are faces there, and i take them in the palms of my hand, hold them like a precious thing. eyes are so deep here it seems, so dark, with dimension. through the bright sound of this city, the way there are colours, the way the colours lean on themselves, i am caught in the suspension of eyes.