And he took the fire in his hands and the knife–Genesis 22:6
The beasts walk single file, saying hallelujah, eating bones. The woodsmen with their axes chop in union, felling trees as if their first children. I see you on the other cliff. There is a chasm between us. We could sort through trees for communication towers and text. Unless the world would flood again, level to the cliffs, and I would cut another tree and make a canoe— or you could chop a tree and fell it for a bridge. The ruffians overrun the corridors. The wolves are near. I see their red hats through the trees. The beasts roast marshmallows when fires are lit. I hold my broken fire-hose. The woodsmen brush the vermin from their coats. They pass out tickets to the ball. It will begin with a bow scraping across a few strings. We can dance when the water gauge is full— with the sound of what almost could be music.
