Awake well before sun rise, i shift from bed to plastic chair overlooking the pigs, an ancient gnarly tree, mango’s on the cusp of turning ripe, pigs grunting and trotting as the transition  from dark to light is aided by cigarettes, vodka and my iPod. Sitting in underwear being something i am fully appreciating as it wont be for much longer. Ten days. Legs perched on a concrete plinth, shimmering in mosquito repellent. I feel below the surface of something, bones and veins running towards the knees, visible below the skin.

Chickens and pigs. Chickens on pigs backs all free trotting. Trees triple my age, gnarled, hanging spiny lengths to the floor, providing a perfect vista as the silence rises with the warm light. Pig tails flapping, wings rising, their equivalent to repellent or just habitual?

The night-light globes finally turn off, another swig as i am almost ready for the day, but somewhere partly drunk. It’s morning. Longing to see, hold, touch those i have missed for so long;  a list that could go on for sentences, including a tripod cat. The deep inhalation of the green. One more cigarette.

Five more minutes and i will return to my bed, asleep catching up on the lost but gained hours. Mangos pigs chickens.The sky full of light. One more aid to cancer, one more swig and my final word, sleep.