They say that tattooed swallows conjure up bad luck by guiding - on the skin of the ancient sailor - to a happy homecoming. He has them tattooed in ink, and although they could be swifts I prefer to think of them as swallows. There they are, flying across the flat air of the skin of the neck, the arm, perhaps the torso that I have not seen because I sell flats and not the rich iced coconut, until they disappear on their hidden side.
I think of the feathers of the birds tattooed on the skin, hopefully (though improbably) with feathers of other birds, or of themselves, according to some primitive ritual of initiation and discovery: Feathers that paint feathers on the skin of a new man...
Nice, isn't it?
