Something that was inside of your pocket fell out. Should we go back for it? Was it a word or a slipknot? It’s hard to have a conversation while falling head-first through a haystack of data. You remember hedges and wrought-iron gates, you remember the grounds. And elevators, or roots that trickle through time. Does language have a pocket? My hunch is not really but since I have committed to always saying yes, I might as well reach inside and see what’s there. Digression through etymology. The archeology of the pocket or its ways of poking very small holes in our discourse. What was it that were we talking about? You remember something about a flickering chamber of nodes, how warm it was. I assumed it was part of you because it was appended to your root. Depth and solitude can invert a body, heart. You remember the flickering of the coins, how they tempted you to reach inside of my pocket. Now we are falling. Was it worth it? Do you feel like you know what it is?