In a different autumn, I would have been embarrassed by sampling. When you say my name, my body answers.

Was I quiet? To transform this room into another. In the morning I sit there, slowly, reading about sand, about the sand, the movements of the sand across itself. In the night a distant voice had almost fallen asleep. It is every single rock in my heart, slowly but inevitably turning into stars and sparkling diamonds. You put it in my window, on my window sill.