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A The property boundary is handmade (shared). Fluid, and only fluid. Unless you know precisely where. The skin and space of white noise (hearth). One hundred foot of fence. Language is impermanent. We retain nothing, have no specific form. The latent grass, explode; infect the yard and underneath the stone-work. The neighbour’s garden, glistens. Scars. We translate always from another. B Confirm my personal association. The lawn requires trim, and so it does. A sanity short of despair. Lawn ornaments are temporal. And yet: this sky of relative divergence upon the written word, my daughter’s childhood memories. What separates us no more a thickness than this house brick. At best, let’s say.