Near the bridge in the trailer park, a man sets up a tent, fumbling in the dark. A woman unrolls the sleeping bag. They unzip, shed themselves - a loosening shrug - step inside each other. Breath: fingering: blind: quick. Body shudders, stuns with its liquid, its cool -
they step back out. It's very still. Breath after breath. One thing draws another. Gently, so gently, he puts his head against her ribs, opening a shutter in her skin to look inside: cathedrals of space, wandering planets, aisle upon aisle of stars. She summons all that's there.