Swifts do not guard their time; they do not linger. When they come back from Africa, we are happy. I was told to go back to Africa. The sea, that stupid slate wedge, sparks with such beauty. I feel lonely. A car goes past,
Life underground, for many of the things that have adapted to it, is like this: The lines between alive and not alive, dead and not, get blurred. Examining these lives raises uncomfortable questions about the very thing we think of as life...
