Lamp Posts on the Edge of Water The night is closing in again. Lined lights are born, and centuries slide as they plunge themselves down into stalactites, skewering bright corrugations which fend off coiled darkness below. Katherine Spadaro   Washed Back here again. At first, it’s done for you, then you do it alone (while you are able) in a little tiled box or a shining white hollow, everything stripped. There is none to impress with your weakly misshapenness: no point in posing. Moments that drop as they punctuate truth to your flesh while it flows through a channel of…