The body and its vessels: what is born outside is always borne here, so long now we can even bear it, send it lightly down myriad rivers running ceaselessly heartward. The organ as engine: its task made plain by habit. A system frail, dark and unknown. Or appalled, like an insect who’s never seen light. Dazed, the body searches and stubs its toe; the furniture is assailant. The dark is blinding, the light obscure. Mirrors teach an everyday magic, coats: what can be hidden. Objects take meaning so we can fake knowing. If daily, only fear grows from a song, we read: the apple that teeth need, the bleeding tissue dropped. The old snow packed into cases, sent south. The delicate tendrils tying red ankles. The can of beachwater. The old owl’s eyes. It takes murder to end the everyday clue. There is nothing frail about it: all things can be made invisible, are reversible. Hence the cautionary tale, spells and rituals for modern life. Hence the fairy tale ending that will never come, the everyday vessel – a box, a vase – that comes instead. But see: all things sparkle mutely: we believe and are transported, or moved, or carried far away.