Cool blue afternoons and their slow drowning in evening solution. Riparian reflections in cloud matter that glimmer ever so meekly. Gritty, tiny sediment in the caverns of hemmed fabric. A butterfly pea and lemon cocktail precipitating pigment in little eddies of sky. The scent somewhere of smoking glass and the sound of candlelight castanet. The flexing and creasing of aluminum vesicles relieved of their ballasts (New Zealand pilsner). And after hours and hours of this, the porch lights turn on.