mux Dogs had trodden there, snuffled leaf-mould, peed cheerfully. Blackbirds scored the slurry, clawed runic entries in the mud's soft journal. He placed his boots at the edges, tried not to slip.
He wonders at the beauty of the fire pit. While flames erratically leap from fuel piled anyhow in untidy heaps, why is the fire-pit such a perfect circle of black ash bleached to grey then white, a drawing of heat's history by a zen master in a charcoal cloak?
On the eleventh week I imagined that the child Wills had lost his footing at the brink of a quarry and, falling, had caught a glimpse of me, a pale faced woman, a future ghost. On processing the images from that day there did seem to be a woman in the distance, dressed in a long coat and carrying a long-handled bag, exactly what Ihad been wearing although I had not been aware of anyone else on the common that day so early, apart from myself
trig Wills cast a net of triangles to tessellate the land, catch truth by the gills, haul it in. Its weight made him stagger like an outback Euclid or some pure dude like that. Stones quivered. Gravel barbecued his boot soles in an hour. Air thrummed on his eyeball’s dry pink drum while he squinted at his leader, tried to take a bearing. Burke would gesticulate to ghosts, to his secret mirage girl – her absent palm imprinted, sprayed with greyish-yellow pigment from his mouth’s soft palette. So Wills stayed up to track the stars, avoided shooting at the sun, and went to bed the only one with any idea of where they were. One night he ransacked his leader’s backpack, found a desiccated pouch around his livid neck, freed a lock of hair, extracted with two slender surgeon’s fingers one small, white kid glove from a pocket’s blurred boundary, uncovered from these slow forensics more than he could bear to know. A triangle connected the tick inside Burke’s fevered skull, Wills’ heart, hammer hammering in the dust-furred dark and the curl of bright hair burning on his palm like a question-mark. Wills took the tokens up and hurled them anyhow beyond the fire’s lip to where he now could only guess some false horizon might be lying.