Waking sweat-sour and stiff in a landscape of abrupt articulations, I remembered killing her. How sudden and how slow, the blood growing across her bra, her white eyes tilted towards heaven. In all my organs a terrible philanthropy and looped in my mind, incantations of the profane, processions of language, mangled, eternally circling wheel inside a cage of phrases as granite peaks slashed sky beyond the fire ring: junk-black wood, tin cans, litter of eyeglasses crushed in the night stupor. Barefoot, shivering in my underwear, abased in the blur of the Superstitions and the vacuum of my years I dreamed on my feet—of sanctuary, incarnation, any species of belief.