Sleep leeches out. We are always tired here, where everything has stopped but still goes on. from the middle of blue, we watch ships sail by. We don’t know how to hail them, far off with their life-buoys, and our little boat can’t navigate these colours. With cupped hands we shield our eyes from the sun, and looking down notice life as viewed from behind- the -very -corner of a squinted eyelid, the way that it lets the light in just so. There are no ships. only our footsteps in the sand, trailing what they will of whispers.