That space when I come back to the flat from a trip away and find myself at two millimetres' distance from my life, allowing me to see it from outside, or from above, the sense the space gives that I can intervene in that life, nudge it, then, two hours later, in fact, already disappearing and nothing done in it, but perhaps this, a sentence running to its end, with enough structure to be the eye in a needle of the self through which other words may be threaded, later.
