81 unrest The prognosis for unrest is poor, says the pendulum traveller (he’s swung here before). Longer than months stretching to noon, longer than putting words to a tune. 安慰  (an wei) When light pooled in the camber of your palm and your quiet laugh dipped a reprieve, a catching net, fullness to cheek hollow – I couldn’t help it. Your candour was embodied / your words fading / our rhythm softly a morning moon.