Downloadable PDF: Chapter 11 w epilogue
The wall still drops sharply, yet through a mistless night, beyond the railing and the edge, down to the water. The air’s electrically-lit between each of the eight trees – their roots breaking the grey and moss-green, late-night, cobbled surface.
The cranes stand guard, the tide’s possessed, and all is rather still.
There is a girl-child, sat softly atop the furthest bench.
I close the time and space between us.
“So:” (she asks) “how was it?”
“Inconclusive.” I sit upon the bench-top and nudge her left shoulder with my right. “But I’m okay with that.”
She hops on off the bench-top, after nudging my right shoulder with her left, and stands over by the man who’s perched upon a small and standing piece of sculpted wood.
william altoft 