Consider the poet called Harvey. He is standing at the postbox, his beautiful, heartfelt letter is halfway into the slot and, he’s like, Is it, maybe, a bit mad? The envelope falls and . . . too late! His words are in the gap – sent but still unseen. That chasm from which arise Terrible Uncertainty and Terrible Joy. A place so unbearable, it is where we live all the time now, checking for the likes.
