Ciaran Parkes

On a mountain track a cow pauses, looking at me. I stand still, looking back. Her soft eyes examine me carefully, trying to decide the best way to proceed. I step to one side and let her lumber past. A civilized meeting, we both walk on. I continue down the mountain, a visitor in her world. She steps over stones, searching out grass. Back in the city members of my own species walk three and four…

I'm reassured, in a small way, by the sound of raindrops as I lie awake at night. They come down, if anything does, from heaven. They're angels who, instead of wings, possess the gift of falling to the earth and breaking against everything they touch. Their bright bodies aren't designed to last. I only hear them as they land and cease to be.

The ghost of Einstein is explaining the theory of relativity to me, with a special emphasis on how it applies to ghosts. His face is semi-transparent. I can see the stars through it, dark matter and the swirl of galaxies where his brain had been. He tells me he also considers me a ghost, that he just popped out for a newspaper and saw me here, hovering in mid-air, that an observer would see us bo…