You open the door, to the thing not there, smoke imagined, rain, an unexpected visitor, a thief, the postie, a gift of seedlings, a ghost, sun in the form of a goat escaped from a tether, a matador with sparkling orange epaulettes, a wisp of fog standing in for mystical experience, a bottle of milk, a stamp carefully steamed from a New Zealand letter, the prophecy that makes no sense because it won’t come true for 40 years, the clothes the wind took off the line, the leaf landed from another plane, an old carpet that crawled out of the house, yourself looking in – are you older or younger?