We thought of the quivering of the northern lights in secrets inside, inside, inside each other. In the night a distant voice had almost fallen asleep.

Nothing is deeper than the skin? It is the wind blowing tunes through the rushes. Every night the mind of the sun strikes a chasm through the mountains. The country is crumbling, crumbling. When I woke up, my dreams had always left a trap behind. Days. Weeks. Friends.