Inside the rock on which we live, another rock. So they believe. What is a Lamb of God? People use this phrase. I don't know. I watch my sister, fingers straying absently about her mustache, no help there. Leaves stir through the house like souls, they stream from the porch, catch in the speaking holes, glow and are gone. Remember what Prince Andrei said when they told him Moscow had burnt right down to the ground. He said Really? A man who had been to the war! had seen our lives are just blind arrows flying. There he sat on his cot all the same, trying to get the string to the bowhorn. Actions go on in us, nothing else goes on. While a blurred and breathless hour repeats, repeats.