Clothes peeled from their skins, the sun amplified the heat in the space between them.

A perceptible electronic throb

Leaving the hum on, or making a space for landing--this is a way of traveling and the remainder of a return. There, I am open-ended, a caress, a jaw, a glance that was not entered into record. This account must be entered into circuitry and left to re-parse. But during that, the roads and gravel paths are singing, a caliope waltz, someone trying to draw up memory like a bucket, heavy with underground, is drawn from the well. Substance is not the issue. Execution is not the issue. The tilt of the Earth on its axis lives at 23.4 degrees, and it is unclear how to make this work in our favor. Oh hard-cornered insides, the way ahead is unclear.