Tiny little footsteps, the wild flowers that ring true.  The bolt on the door, the closed shop, the time when you were nine.  They never go away and neither they should.  That time you should have spoken out, you know you were right.  The dust in the air, chip shop paper.  Do you know the time of day? Now that’s a silly question.  Fred Perry collar pinned down and looking smart.  Still climbing up the ladder, just can’t work out what the ladder is.