You answered like that. The sand fretted my thoughts, made them round and soft until they disappeared. A shy room, an intimate room. When you say my name, my body answers. This is not a game. You can be in this landscape. Nothing is deeper than the skin? This is how you answered. Afterwards it was the unrest, the lonely unrest of waking in days torn and quiet. You say something about the sun. The table wobbles. Were these lines really real? We stood in there and told stories and listened.