Rocket in the vase, in my bedroom, in the dead of night. My long curtains partially open I lay popped up it is silent. I am still, is this real if not I need a transmission. I have a task I’m told in the inner ear I have to go to Mars and fast, news for earth arriving soon I must bring it back so I downsize, I uncover the rocket in a vase tiddly me climbs with a miniature ladder through the door of my rocket in the vase, the roof parts somehow woosh I am gone and beyond I go, the roof closes and the street in England is unaware.